


Justice and Ardor

by Rainah (RainahFiclets)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, F/F, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainahFiclets/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: The year is 1782. With Washington replaced as the head of the continental army, the confederation was unable to form and descended into a set of petty, squabbling kingdoms. Henry Laurens rules in South Carolina, coveting the land of surrounding kingdoms. Philip Schuyler, king of New York and Jersey, has only daughters to succeed him. In Virginia, Thomas Jefferson looks for any advantage he can get to keep his throne.John - the wealthy, lonely, aggressively liberal heir to the throne of South Carolina - has already survived two assassination attempts as he navigates his father's court. He's searching for connection, while still keeping his preference for men a secret.Angelica, furious at being packed off to be his bride rather than rule the kingdom that she be hers by rights, starts a dangerous affair.Alexander, bitter about his fall from grace, wants only to strike back against the world that stole his chance to rise.Maria, the mistrustful palace librarian, tries to hold the underside of the court together. She knows the cost, when high lords scrabble for power.





	1. JOHN I

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME TO THE NOVEL
> 
> Planned updates are the first Friday of every month. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been allowing me to bounce questions off them, especially Oaxara and Karli. Most especially thank you to [Syn](https://synteis.tumblr.com/) who beta'd the hell out of this.

"Your highness?" a voice called from outside his room. John's head snapped up. 

"Yes?"

A moment later his guard appeared, dressed in the red and silver uniform of the palace. "Are you receiving company at the moment?"

Preferably not. He was lounging about halfway dressed, alternating between a political pamphlet and his correspondence. John hesitated. "Who is it?"

"Francis Kinloch, sir, the younger."

"Oh!" John shot up, one hand rising to smooth his hair. "That's fine. I should like to see Fran- Kinloch. Give me just a moment." His waistcoat, where was his waistcoat? He put a dressing gown on instead - it was a little unorthodox to be wearing one that this time of day, but it was better than his underclothes. One more minute to try fruitlessly to make his hair lay flat, then he signaled Walker.

"Presenting Francis Kinloch Jr," announced his second guard, North.

At which point Francis came bounding into the room, and John tried to remember how to breathe. 

"Look what I've got!" the man said, dangling a book before John's nose. John snatched at it, but Francis jerked it back. And then, before he could do anything else, Francis leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth.

"I wish you wouldn't," John said as he pulled away, lips burning. He glanced sideways at the sentinel who stood by the door. North's face was impassive, but John knew his eyes missed nothing.

"Why not?" Francis said easily, sitting on the bed. "It's a little old fashioned, sure, but there's no harm in it. I thought the court was all about tradition and things."

"The court is committed to forging a new future for an independent South Carolina." John sighed. "I just wish you wouldn't." _People will start to talk. It's not so innocent now that we're adults._ He had known Francis most of his life; kissing games were all fine and good when they were children, but the same thing could be deadly now. _They'll start to talk, and he'll be ruined._ Francis' family was not secure at court. 

"As my prince commands." Francis did not roll his eyes, but he might as well have for how dry his tone was.

"What was that book?" John reached for it again. This time Francis let him have it. _Common Sense by Thomas Paine_. "I remember this book. This dates from before the war." Francis just shrugged. "Where did you get it?"

"Sweet talked your librarian. She likes me." He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, and John tried to repress a snort. "She said the library had two copies, so I was welcome to keep it as long as I liked."

"I cannot believe she'd say such a thing." 

"Yes," Francis said patiently, looking up from the bed, "because she doesn't like you. She'd sooner tell your father than give you a copy of a book advocating unification."

John frowned. "So why are _you_ reading it?"

"It's interesting." Another shrug, one that made dark hair fall in his eyes. "I like reading different points of view on the subject. What of it?"

"Only the concern of a friend." John flashed him a smile, receiving a rueful look and a squeeze of his hand in thanks.

"Now." Francis sat up, doing his best to look proper. It didn't always work - there was always something a bit boyish about Francis, either a rumpled garment or a turn of phrase or his wide smile. "I am here on official business as well. I come bearing a message."

"If Lord Steuben wants to discuss my security again, I will have no more of it." He was done with their simpering concerns as they chipped away more and more of his agency. 

But Francis wasn't smiling. "Steuben has good reason, John."

"I know." He did, he really did. He could still hear Lord Andre's pleading _to be treated like a man, not a traitor, is our friendship worth so little-_ He shook his head, which had the unfortunate result of one curl springing from its tie. "I agreed to the guards, didn't I?"

"Still." Francis frowned a moment longer, then brightened into his usual smile. "But this message is from your father. His Highness requests you join him for midday." 

"That's not much time." John glanced at the clock. "Francis-"

"You have to prepare, I know. I'll go." He leaned forward like he was planning to kiss John again, grinning when John jerked away. The laughter trailed after him as he left, and left John's cheeks burning. 

Still, he was outside the palace's formal tea room at the appointed hour, properly dressed and waiting for his father. Henry Laurens, the first king of South Carolina, was a busy man. Even when it came to making time to eat with his son and heir. 

It had happened so quickly. One moment there had been talks of unification, of a great collection of states in North America. United to fight against the British, under the command of General Washington. His father had talked of sending John to be the man's aide de camp, to forge ties with those likely to help form the new nation.

And then it had all gone to pieces. His father had come home from Congress, practically frothing at the mouth; General Washington, based on his failures in the New Jersey campaign, was being replaced by Horatio Gates. That was the beginning of the end for unification; Henry Laurens had seen the writing on the wall. He'd kept his son close, using him to build power in the South Carolina Senate. When the Continental Congress had fallen apart, he was well poised to be acclaimed as the first king of South Carolina.

George Washington had not been able to claim even that much. He had retreated back to Virginia in disgrace, and Thomas Jefferson had ridden a wave of wealth and popularity to seize the crown in Virginia. Horatio Gates had claimed Pennsylvania - nominally the seat of their allied governments, he presided over a court of petty diplomats with no real power. And Philip Schuyler had beat out all other claimants to become king of New York, though his seat was the most tenuous.

They four were the largest and most robust of the remaining colonies - Philip having swept up New Jersey in addition to New York. Aaron Burr's rushing west to seize the land beyond the Savannah River and proclaim himself a king, while shocking, had not merited many adjustments. Everyone largely ignored the man. Henry Laurens was left to try and build a kingdom out of a state, balancing rights with responsibilities while trying to hold on to his power. Which had been easier before someone tried multiple times to assassinate his eldest son. 

John looked to the left. Benjamin Walker was there, standing in parade rest, eyes casually sweeping the room. William North would be just outside the door, he knew, ensuring no one entered without the crown prince's permission. They were a concession after the first attempt, when someone had shot at him during a ride through town. It hadn't helped. At Lord Andre's dinner less than a month later, someone had tried to slip poison into his food. 

If this kept up, John reflected, there would be precious few pastimes still allowed to a crown prince. At least he was still permitted to hunt.

Finally, his Royal Highness King Henry I arrived for midday meal. He was alone, which was surprising. It was nearly impossible to dislodge his father from the swarm of attendants, favour seekers, and busybodies that clung to him every moment of the day.

 _It's important then,_ John thought as they sat at opposite ends of the table. _Why he's called me here today, it's important._ Aloud, he said "Did the council meeting go as planned?"

"Mostly." Henry peered over his wine glass at his son. "Lord Kinloch put forward and interesting motion today."

"Did he?" John tried to sound casual. Tried but failed.

"Yes," Henry gave him a look. "A bill to require a full criminal trial for any crime where the punishment is death."

"That sounds like a good motion," John tried. "To protect the people-"

"It curtails royal authority," Henry said shortly. "An English king still retains prerogative over- "

"We are not in England," John shot back, stung. "And we rebelled against such excess." _Three years ago, we were at war. I fought for a country I barely recognize anymore._

"John," His father said, and there was an element of weariness there that made John frown. He did not want to think of his father as _tired_ or _old_ or _weighted down_. "This is the way the world works now. I am king because if I were not, Rutledge would be king. And how do you think that would have gone for our family?"

"Yes, sire, I understand." But he didn't. _When I am king-_ but he didn't want to think of that either, no more than he wanted to think of his father as old and weary. The two thoughts were both connected to a truth he wasn't ready to face. 

His father broke the silence first. "King Philip is coming to visit."

"Philip Schuyler?" John asked, and received a nod. "He's coming for the Winter's Ball?" It was a good enough occasion, he supposed, several days of feasting and dancing and getting marvelously drunk.

"No, in several days time. He is bringing his three daughters." John's face must have shown confusion, for his father's expression turned serious. "John, it's time you were wed."

"No." If he could have shouted, in that moment, he would have. " _No_."

"Be reasonable," Henry sighed. "You are my son and heir, John. You are expected to wed and sire sons of your own. Proper, legitimate sons with the breeding to lead this kingdom one day." He hesitated. "The Schuylers are an old family, very well regarded. By all reports Philip's daughters are all accomplished, beautiful, and spirited. He has agreed to let you choose your preference from the three. I thought this would please you."

 _Political reform would please me,_ John thought, irrationally, grasping wildly at straws. _Ending the injustice of slavery would please me. Francis Kinloch would please me. But not this._ "I don't want to marry so soon," He tried. "Father, it would tie us to a very unstable kingdom. What if Philip is disposed of?"

"Something he is quite conscious of," Henry rumbled. "He hopes that by marrying off his daughters he can create the necessary alliances to keep his family in power. John, _Philip has no sons_. No true heir. Consider that any sons of yours by a Schuyler girl could one day claim New York in their mother's name."

"Do I have your leave to go, sire?" John put both his hands on the table, palms down. Otherwise, he was afraid they would shake.

Henry nodded his assent. "I thought this would please you, John, I really did. They are by all accounts rambunctious girls, in need of a steady hand but very... compatible to your own personality. I want you to be as happy in your marriage as I was."

"I beg your leave, sir, but I am not feeling well." John could barely force the words out before bolting from the room.

"My prince!" John was barely twenty steps down the hall when he heard the voice. He stopped. Tried to compose himself.

"Yes, Lord Steuben?"

In his youth, Lord Steuben must have been built like a brawler. Heavy set and commanding, thrusting about his sword. He was a little older now, a little rounder, but still cut an imposing figure as he strode across the room. Behind him, a handsome youth clung like a shadow to his every move.

"And... Pierre, correct?"

The youth gave a quick nod. Francis had once observed that it was always easy to find Lord Steuben's aid. One merely chose whoever was the most handsome boy in the room.

He steeled himself, forcing both arms wide in a gesture of welcome. "What can I do for you?"

"May I walk you back to your rooms?" Lord Steuben asked.

"As you will, provided you don't mind an audience." John gestured to his guards, each with a carefully neutral expression. Of course: Steuben ran the palace security as part of his duties, the men would not want to be found lacking by their superior.

"Not at all, John, not at all." Steuben lead the way, chatting casually. "How are you finding them?"

John caught his eye. "In truth, or the diplomatic answer? They are a significant amount of trouble."

"But far less than losing the heir to the throne." Steuben's rested a hand on his shoulder as they walked, talking of weather and hunting and horses. 

Finally as they approached John's rooms, Lord Steuben leaned close. "My prince, I have something to report. No proof that your father would accept, but information I think you would like to know of none the less."

"Oh?" John waved Walker into his room, as North took his place outside it. Here, standing in the doorway and talking in low voices, they would have a moment of privacy.

"My Prince, you will no doubt remember how less than a year's past your father permitted you a seat at his councils? And the motion you proposed?"

"Yes." It had been a ban on the import of slaves for a period of two years, ostensibly to prevent black overpopulation. Still, it was a start.

"My coast guard attempted last week to disrupt and search a shipment intended for Lord Rutledge. His men blustered and shouted their ranks and otherwise made a fuss; my coast guard, untrained and unwieldy as they are, foolishly let them go. But I've spoken to the man who was there, and he swears Lord Rutledge was importing slaves."

A heavy silence fell on his last word. "Right." John said. "Right. Thank you, My Lord, I will bring this to my father."

Steuben waved him away. "I just want to see the crapulous mass get what's coming to him."

"If he's ignoring royal authority-" even if it was his, and not his father's- "my father will deal with it. Thank you, Lord Steuben."

Reports of illegal slave trading drove all thoughts of marriage from his mind. His father’s mind, however, was another story. The man had an endless capacity for finding ways to make people miserable while supposedly showing them favour.

No less than a week after their conversation, John found himself sitting stiffly in the throne room while his father welcomed King Philip Schuyler and his three daughters to South Carolina. If he could say anything for it, it was that the ceremony was blissfully short. A mere thirty minutes until he was permitted to rise and greet their guests personally.

"Your Highness," he bowed over Philip's ring. "Welcome to South Carolina."

The man gave him a warm smile. "It has been too long, John. Or should I now call you Crown Prince John?" There was a twinkle in his eye, just the hint of a tease. 

One John was happy to match. "Of course, the King of New York and Jersey may call me whatever he pleases." 

Across the room Henry gave him a look of disapproval. It didn't matter; Philip laughed. "You haven't changed a bit. Come and meet my greatest treasures." He took John by the arm and lead him across to where the Schuyler girls were in deep conversation. "My darlings. John, this Margerita, my youngest and most willful," 

A girl with a bright yellow dress and curls to match his own dipped into a quick curtsy, she could not have been more than seventeen. "Peggy, if you please." 

"Peggy." John kissed her hand, like a proper prince ought to.

"Elizabeth, who prefers to go by Eliza. You will be hard pressed to find a girl with a better disposition, she puts saints to shame." 

A stately woman in a blue dress curtsyed deeply. "My Prince, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine,” he said mechanically, and kissed her hand.

"And my eldest, Angelica. You will not find her like anywhere in America."

A woman in a deep pink dress, John guessed she was a scare year or two younger than he was. She curtseyed, but her eyes flashed up to take him in. Even more stately than Eliza; this woman looked like a queen.

"Angelica," He tasted the name. "A pleasure."

"Likewise, I'm sure."A reserved smile. "I look forward to getting to know the prince of South Carolina."

"Myself as well." John tried for a smile. "You'll have to tell me your impressions of him."

One eyebrow rose imperiously. "Currently, it is that he is a man prone to making poor jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood." Both her sisters giggled, Philip broke into an indulgent smile. John did not flinch.

"Miss Schuyler, I see your eyes miss nothing. Who is the gentleman?" For there was a man standing just beside them, achingly handsome in fine but simple clothes. 

Angelica flushed, looking back at the man. Philip waved a hand. "My secretary," he said dismissively. "Alexander. He wanted to observe the ceremony."

 _He dresses well, for a secretary._ "Alexander," John acknowledged with a nod of his head, then shook hands with the ambassador from New York before turning back to Angelica. "Miss Schuyler? Would you care to walk with me, and share whatever other insights you might have into my court?"

"Your court I cannot speak for. But I will join you." And all was well again, the momentary awkwardness forgotten. She let him lead her onto the floor, all grace and regal bearing and John dodged the lords and ladies who wanted one favour or another. He was impressed, and told her so.

"My sister is better, in conversation as well as all other things. Eliza, I mean. Peggy clomps around frightfully, and says whatever’s on her mind."

John smiled. "A bit young, isn't she?"

"Seventeen. Old enough, my father has decided, should you decide your tastes lay towards a younger and more... malleable wife." He detected just a bitterness there. 

"She doesn't seem so malleable," John observed. In fact, Philip had called her _willful._

"She is seventeen," Angelica dismissed him. "Of course she is malleable, she just believes she is not. Full of dreams of courts and glories and loves."

John nodded, making a note. There were worse things, he supposed, than a wife filled with willful dreams. "And her sister?"

"Eliza is a joy," Angelica paused as they left the throne room, spilling out into a garden with the other lords and ladies. "You will never find anymore more trusting or kind. She wants nothing more than a quiet life filled with home and children."

John couldn't help his wince. "Ah."

"Not fond of children?" He could detect just a hint of a tease in Angelica's voice. "Or home? You can confide, I shall not tell."

Neither, truthfully. He chose the more diplomatic answer. "A prince does all that is required of his, my lady."

"That’s not a very polite thing to say to women you wish to court.” Her smile held daggers. “Is that all we are to you? Duty?"

Yes. "All political marriages have some element of duty, do they not? What happens over the years, as couples come together, can be a different story." Would not be another story for him, but he had to let her hope.

"Don't say such things about Eliza," Angelica warned. "She still wants to marry for love."

"Oh? She does?" 

Angelica gave him a smile as they circled back to her family, soft and just a little bit sad. "Don't we all?"

He tried to look at the Schuylers, he really does. _They're beautiful_. Each in their own way, of course, but he could see that they were beautiful. It was just that whenever his eyes were on that corner of the room they kept wandering to the Schuyler's handsome secretary instead.

The only thing to do was ensure there are as few distractions as possible. Once the Schuylers were settled into their quarters, John sent a page to ask if Peggy would like a tour of the palace.

She was honoured, of course, and arrived in a gown even finer than her last one. Under the chaperone of John's ever present guards, they paraded down the halls and John told her all about his home. "It used to just be a manor, of course. I mean, _I_ always thought it was the best place to live, but it wasn't a palace until after the war. My father had it redone to better fit the new family legacy. They're still working on it of course; the back gardens are being expanded, new buildings added, and he's doing everything up with our colours-" They passed a large window, hung with red and silver, and he paused to allow Peggy to peer out into the grounds. 

"It's so grand," she breathed. "Can we go to the kitchens? I'm starving, and they must have something."

"Absolutely," John nodded, but paused when Walker shifted. "What?"

"Your father requested you be kept away from the staff, when possible. Perhaps Miss Schuyler could be escorted later?"

"Why-" And then John's face darkened. "That's ridiculous." Walker shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. "He can't possibly think-"

"Besides," North cut in smoothly. "He is with a lady and his guards, not creeping in alone. It's proper. Let them go."

John was flushed all the way up to his ears, embarrassment and anger coursing through him. "I will show our guests whatever they please."

But Peggy was already backing up. "We shouldn't then, if it’s not allowed. Your highness, your father wouldn't want- _my_ father wouldn't want-"

"I thought you wanted to see them?" He demanded, cross. "What, are you scared now?"

"I don't think it's _proper_ then!" She burst out. "I should return to my rooms. To my sisters." And before he could say anything else she was asking North to escort her back to her rooms.

_That's one._

He invited Eliza to go walking in the gardens. Surely that was free of distraction and disaster. And it was nice, seeing her exclaim over all the different types of flowers they had in South Carolina.

"Do they follow you everywhere?" 

John looked back at Walker, trailing behind him. North was ahead, ensuring no one bothered the couple on their walk. "For now. There has been some... political instability of late, and my father thought it better that I had some protection. It's something," he added fairly awkwardly, "that a wife would need to be conscious of as well. It is not an easy path."

"Neither is growing up a princess in New York and Jersey," Eliza met his gaze squarely. "I am accustomed to difficult paths, my prince."

He smiled. "You are an uncommon woman, Eliza."

"So I've been told."

"These are our kingdom's flowers," John lead her over to a bed of jessamine. "It's illegal to pick them, by law they all belong to my father the king. But I doubt he would begrudge his son one..." With a careful hand he plucked a flower and tucked it behind her ear. She flushed.

She was beautiful, he could see that. Intelligent, steady, warm. And there was a regalness to her gaze as she assessed him. Yes, Eliza would make a worthy queen. 

_If only that was enough. She's beautiful, kind, competent. Why can't that be enough?_

"Do you like the palace?" He asked her as they walked. "Could you see yourself living here?"

"I see myself living wherever my husband does," was the reply, quick and steady. An acceptable answer, if not a particularly enthusiastic one.

John could fill in what was unsaid. "But you don't want to marry me."

"It is by duty to marry as best benefits my home, my prince. That will require a marriage arranged by my father, not one for love."

It wasn't an answer, but then it was all the answer he needed. Eliza deserved better than a marriage to a tempestuous prince who preferred the company of other men.

_Two._

He took Angelica to the library.

The library room was one of John's favourites in all the palace. Rows upon rows of political treatises, essays, pamphlets and recollections. A whole shelf of novels in all kinds of languages, and chairs to recline upon while you read or desks by the sunny windows beside a stock of pens and papers. 

He watched Angelica whirl around the room, hands touching all the books. "Do you like it?"

"It's so large." Her hands brushed over his maps, the little wooden figures that had once represented various parts of the army. 

"One of the largest rooms in the palace. My father always valued learning." Only the throne room was larger, and perhaps the kitchens.

"Mine does as well." She turned to him, eyes sparkling. "Do you have a favourite?"

John considered, then hesitated. "I have a lot of favourites. A text on philosophy, maybe-"

"Rubbish." She flushed slightly, cutting him off, but held firm. "You have a favourite, you don't want to tell me."

A very insightful woman. Perhaps a little too insightful. "Very well, you've ferreted out my secrets. It's this." He pulled a heavy copy of the works of William Shakespeare from the shelf - behind it was a leather bound copy of Wesley’s _Thoughts on Slavery_. He handed it to Angelica.

She turned it over in her hands, studying the golden title, the worn spine, and the first few pages. "This is an abolitionist text."

"It is." The Schuylers owned slaves, he knew, a great number. They hadn't brought any with them, probably out of deference to his beliefs, but that didn't mean they agreed with them. "He's a brilliant man. Someone I'd love to meet one day."

Angelica looked at the text for a long moment before meeting his eyes. "I would like to read this, if you are amendable to lending it."

"As the lady desires." He couldn't help but smile. "Just ensure to mail it back to me."

"Oh, I can finish it before the wedding." She flashed him a bright smile, dimming only when he frowned. "Your wedding to Eliza?"

"I'm marrying Eliza?" That was news to him.

"Well," She shrugged. "She is the ideal choice, is she not? Kind, thoughtful,charming. _Dutiful_. Every king needs a _dutiful_ wife." There was something lurking there, something John wasn't sure he liked.

"I don't think she'd have me," he said, choosing to be polite. _She wants things I can't give her. Love, passion, an honest marriage. She deserves better than this._

But it was the wrong thing to say. Angelica let the book slam back onto the table. "Do you think she has a choice?"

He jerked back, shocked. "She's not a child."

"No, she's a woman. A woman and the daughter of a king whom's kingdom is at risk of tearing itself apart. The kingdom of New York and Jersey needs South Carolina's power. So my father will parade us before you like a farce, like a table where you can pick and choose your meal. The potatoes have no say in the matter."

It hit like a slap in the face. She was right, of course: It wasn't fair. His father's words echoing, _choose your preference from the three. I thought this would please you._ "And if I ask?" He reached for her hand.

She pulled it away. "By all rights I should be my father's heir. But if he ever tried it, his rivals would be quick to take advantage and try to take over. Livingston is an opportunist and Clinton is a bully, but both of them are _male_ and have sons. So instead I get bargained away to keep his power a different way. No one cares what I want." 

"Miss Schuyler?" A voice interrupted them. It was Alexander, the Schuylers' squire, his head bowed but his eyes raised.

"Alexander, what is it?"

"His Grace Philip Schuyler wants to know if you will be having dinner with him tonight."

She sighed. "He wants you to call him Philip, Alexander. After all-"

" _His Grace_ is waiting for an answer," Alexander cut her off. John frowned. That was rude of the man, especially considering his overly respectful posture. Strange.

Even stranger was Angelica's flush, the sudden intensity of her gaze. "Tell my father I don't think I'll be here much longer. Will you take the message for me?"

Alexander reached out and took her hand. John sucked in a breath at his boldness, but Alexander merely bowed over it. "As my princess commands."

Angelica shivered.

As he straightened, Alexander turned to John. "You're the crown prince, John Laurens."

"Last I checked, at least." John tried to smile.

A pause. Alexander opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to change his mind. "I very much enjoyed reading about your work in the South Carolina Senate." And then, before John could reply, he was gone.

 _Good God._ Such intensity, boldness.... entirely too much for a secretary, yet John could hardly believe the man had such a low position. Had he not been a soldier in the war? It was one surefire way to advance, acts of valor. 

He had to say something. "A bold man," John observed, trying to keep his voice neutral.

A misstep. Angelica's answer was cool. "Indeed. Pay him no mind, please. Where were we?" 

John tried to push the image of the bold young man from his mind. _Alexander_. "I was asking you," he said, mouth dry, "what _you_ wanted. I cannot make you your father's heir, Miss Schuyler, but I am at your service. What do you want?"

And she sighed, one great, terrible sigh, and glanced towards the door Alexander had  
disappeared through. "Only the things I cannot have."

 _Three_.

If his lack of luck wasn’t enough, there was also a council meeting the next day. John, past the age of majority and his father’s heir, was expected to attend each one despite the fact that he had very little power to influence the proceedings. He found the meetings both boring and frustrating. What good was it to bicker about the minutiae of the court when there were real problems to be addressed? People in their kingdom going hungry, being robbed or murdered or beaten for espousing unpopular political beliefs. People were _dying_ out there. And this was what they chose to spend their time with?

“If we move the Third division up to the northern border as well-” Lord Rutledge was saying, scratching at a piece of paper, “then there’d be less dependence on Edgefield-”

“-but it would leave the western border undefended,” Lord Gadsden shook his head. “With that upstart there stirring up trouble-”

“Please.” King Philip Schuyler, sitting in on the council as a guest, raised a hand. “Aaron Burr has indicated he wants peace. I am inclined to believe him.”

“After he raised an army and seized his own kingdom?” Lord Steuben scoffed. “He’s a rat, a vile one.”

“But he didn’t seize it from one of the kingdoms, he stole it from France.” King Henry said. “Besides, I’ve a mind to invite the man to the wedding. If Aaron Burr would name himself King, and can hold the lands, I would sooner take stock of the man than dismiss him.”

A pause, as the lords nodded. “Well spoken,” King Philip inclined his head. “I will advise the same. Now, onto the wedding...”

John tuned them out as they began discussing arrangements, food, and entertainment. He couldn't care less what supper was served as his wedding. 

“John?” Lord Rutledge prompted him.

“Hm?” He flushed, caught. “I want to introduce a motion.”

The lords tittered. “Very well, my prince, but we were asking about your preference for-”

“I want to introduce further judicial bodies into the government,” John cut him off. Silence greeted his proposal. “Consider it. Cooper’s report is clear: the backcountry needs some way of keeping order. The army is not enough.”

“Preposterous,” Lord Steuben looked shocked. “The army is ten thousand strong.”

“And three quarters stationed at the northern border.” John shot back. “Where it can do nothing but attempt to grab even more land we can’t protect.”

“John!” His father said sharply. John slammed back into his seat, trying not to glare. He wouldn’t disobey his father, not openly, but the words scorched his tongue.

The lords were all murmuring. 

“Ridiculous...”

“Would set a precedent-”

“ _-want_ to hand over power to backcountry barbarians?”

“Gentlemen,” Henry called them smoothly to order. “I believe your thoughts are clear. We can move forward onto the subject of the royal wedding-”

“Father-”

“Which means it’s time for you to make your choice, John,” Henry spoke right over him. “Which Schuyler girl will be your bride?”

John made a quick decision. He straightened his spine, met lord Rutledge’s eyes across the table, and said “None of them.”

“Excuse me?” King Schuyler asked, incredulous. “Your Highness, I don’t think your son-”

“None of them!” John insisted. “What good is a marriage when our kingdom is falling apart? With-”

“ _John_.” Henry’s growl was enough to stop him cold. The king stood; his lords copying him a moment later. Only Philip Schuyler remained seated. “Please excuse me while I have a word with my son.”

As he stalked into a side room, John at his heels, he heard lord Rutledge say “Willful boys make willful kings. A pity…” before his father shut the door hard enough to shake it.

“What’s gotten into you?” Henry demanded. “I offer you three of the finest girls in the kingdom, and you would rather prance off and play hero? You know that’s not how the court works.”

“But it’s _necessary_ ,” John insisted. “These people, our subjects, are crying out for help. Can we deny them?”

“We can and we must,” Henry snapped. John could see his jaw click from tension. “The court will not stand for it.”

“You are the king-”

“Do you hear me? _The court will not stand for it!_ They see it as an assault on their power!”

“Maybe it is.” John’s mouth was dry. “But how will King Philip take it when his marriage alliance crumbles into dust?”

Another click of his jaw. “You would-”

“There are a million common girls who’d love to wed a crown prince, I’d imagine.” He felt bold, saying the words. Yes, this was princely. This was _kingly_. “And once I was married, there would be nothing even a king could do. Not even two kings.”

His father hesitated. John knew both of them were thinking the same thing. Would he do it? And he saw they both arrived at the same answer.

 _Why not? It’s a marriage for political gain or political spite_. It wasn’t as if he _loved_ one of the girls his father shoved before him. And in that moment, John pushed forward. “Make an arrangement for a new judicial body. Start _looking_ at it at least, doing your wretched discussions. Find some solution.”

There was a long pause. “The eldest Schuyler girl,” Henry said finally. “You will wed the eldest girl, and your second son by her will inherit Philip’s kingdom.”

“Done,” John nodded. “Your highness.”

Henry snorted, just before wrenching open the door. “What king cannot control his own children?”

“A man who wants them to rule,” John murmured, but it was lost as King Henry announced the engagement of his son and heir, John Laurens, to Angelica Schuyler.


	2. ANGELICA I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding, and the wedding night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Syn](https://synteis.tumblr.com/) who beta'd the hell out of this.

Angelica groaned when her searching hand met only bedsheet. "Are you awake already? Come back to bed." It wasn't even dawn yet, no one would be looking for them for hours still.

"I have work to do." 

She groaned again, forcing her eyes open and turning towards the voice. Alexander had installed himself at the desk by the window, madly scribbling on a leaf of paper. "You know that desk is decorative. It's not meant to be _used_."

"It's a flat surface with a chair, I don't need anything more." He finished that paper and moved on to another without stopping, quill moving almost too fast for her to read.

Angelica rolled over, propping her head up in her hands. "What are you writing? Something for my father?"

"Just some thoughts I had. Nothing important." It irked her that he wasn't even turning to reply, eyes never leaving the page he was writing.

"If it's not important, you'd come back to bed."

"Mmmm. There are things equally important as my princess' whims."

"What of your princess' commands?" She kicked a pillow in his direction. "Come back to me."

The pillow missed, but it had the desired effect. Alexander laid the last paper out for the ink to dry and laid down his pen. "It would take a far stronger man than I to resist such a command."

She grinned. "Come and love me."

His kisses tasted like fire, each one burning through her as they pressed their lips together. She hadn't been a virgin when they'd started playing these games, but he'd opened her mind to just how pleasurable such an act of love could be. Sometimes when they were in bed together it felt as though he'd taken control of her mind, had reached right inside with the intent of wring every last drop of sanity out of her. 

She nipped him as he went in for another kiss, and Alexander laughed. "You're eager this morning. I fear your husband won't know what hit him."

"My betrothed... let us speak of happier things." She was getting married today. When the sun came up in a few hours, they'd take her away to get sewn into her dress, then parade her down in front of the whole court to be sold to one John Laurens.

At least he wasn't getting her unspoiled. "Does it inflame you?" She asked Alexander, "Knowing you're taking a woman to bed on the morning of her wedding?"

"A bride? No." He pushed her gently down, trailing kisses down her body. "A princess, one day to be the ruling queen of South Carolina?" He smirked, just on the right side of wicked. "I will not deny it adds spice." He kissed her stomach, her thigh, and Angelica wiggled her hips to tell him to get on with it. He ignored her. "Does your fiance the crown prince know how to do this, I wonder?" He kissed her other thigh, and Angelica was about ready to scream with building anticipation. "Will he please you tonight?"

"He seems like a fool." She forced the words out, because she knew they would please him and because Angelica Schuyler was not one to give her wits to any man, regardless of how talented his tongue. "You'd best be thorough, in case he comes up short."

"I intend to," Alexander said, and bent his head to work between her thighs.

They didn't have long, however. Soon there would be maids about, to draw the curtains and bring her breakfast, to tell her how lucky she was to be wedding a man as promising as John Laurens. How being his broodmare was a far better fate than ruling in her own right, as she could have had she the good fortune to be born a man. 

She pushed it from her mind. That future was gone, and it was better to grasp what little power she could. She would be no man's placid broodmare. She shoved Alexander down on the bed and mounted him, taking what she wanted. He gasp, called out her name and grabbed at the bedsheets. She wasn't a fool enough to call their affair _love_ , but it was something. Something that went against everything she was supposed to be. Something that was _hers_.

When they'd finished, she shrugged on a dressing gown and helped him find his clothes. "Will you leave your writings for me?" She knew how brilliant he was, how criminal that a mind like his was confined to a secretary. He’d read to her sometimes, either from pamphlets he’d acquired or from his own writings, and she enjoyed the sight of his hands flapping about as he formed arguments. There was a certain thrill though, to having such a mind entirely at her disposal, to read to her and reason with her, for her alone to enjoy and appreciate. 

Alexander flushed, looking down at the boots in his hand. "If you wish, I will leave it." 

He'd had her every conceivable way just minutes ago, and this was what made him blush? "I do. Is it thoughts on war this time? Protection of our kingdom? Politics towards the poor?"

"Government." 

She frowned. "What kind of government?"

He shuffled, grabbed the pages off the desk. "It would not be of interest to a lady, I'm sure-"

"Alexander."

Saying his name was enough. Alexander dropped the pages onto her bed. "Unionist government. How to build a coalition of kingdoms, and the benefits of such." He met her eyes. "A union of _kingdoms_ , I'm not advocating for us to try and be states again. But we have more to gain from working together than we do being at war."

A dangerous thing to write about. Many people considered espousing unionist ideals to be paramount to treason, advocating against an acclaimed king. "I look forward to reading it.". She’d keep it in a box hidden at the back of her wardrobe, where she kept everything else she wasn’t keen to have maids snooping through. At least it wasn't a loyalist essay - the only people considered lower than unionists were those who had wanted to remain a British colony. A good number had been killed by mobs, back in New York; it was likely the same here. "Are you attending the wedding?" She asked him, changing the subject.

"His Grace thought it would not be proper." Alexander pulled on his last boot and was busy buckling his belt. A good excuse look at the floor instead of her. "A royal wedding, filled with so many more important guests. I expect I'll be at the reception later though."

Still, a cutting judgement for a man who'd once had such promise. Angelica leaned forward, her position kneeling on the bed allowing her to kiss his brow. "All the better. If I saw you in the crowd, I might forget my vows."

"And I may just object to the union." He pulled her down for one last kiss. "Till the reception then, my lady. I pray your future husband gives you everything you dream of."

 _Unlikely_ , she thought, but let him go. “This had to end today. An affair with a married member of the royal family is not just scandal, it’s high treason. We would both be executed.”

“Yes, Princess. As you say.”

She tossed another pillow at him. “Don’t be cruel, this marriage isn’t my choosing. You’re returning to New York with father anyway.”

“And maybe I’ll find a bride of my own. Would you like that, Angelica?” He still rarely used her full name. She loved the sound of it in his voice, intense and entreating. He made her name sound like music. 

“Maybe.” She stopped, considered him, then smirked. “Will you still keep me first in your thoughts?”

That made him laugh, despite himself. “It would be hard to do otherwise. May your marriage be short and productive, my lady, and may he be experienced enough in the bedroom to give you what you deserve.”

By the time the maids came in she was back in bed, alone, the very picture of a sleeping maiden. Then it was time to get ready, sitting politely as her hair was done up and pigment was painted on her face. Ladies of the court came by to wish her happiness, a blur of faces she could hardly pay attention to. She felt like dough, kneaded and reshaped into the form of a princess. Satin gloves on her arms, small silver beads sewn onto her dress, pearls in her hair... she had never worn anything so costly, not even at the finest ball.

“You look lovely,” A voice behind her murmured. 

Angelica turned. “Princess. Forgive me, I didn’t see you come in.” She had only met John’s sister once or twice, in and around the castle. She was usually accompanied by attendants and guards, and Angelica hadn’t really gotten a chance to speak with her.

“No forgiveness is required,” Mara said politely, the ghost of a smile lighting her lips. “You are very beautiful, Angelica. The perfect bride.”

Her cheeks heated. “I hope your brother shares your opinion.” 

“He will, if he has eyes to see you with.”

It was all small talk, harmless pleasantries. Somehow she didn’t think Mara was here to waste time. “Princess, is there something I can help you with?”

“I wanted to see you before the wedding, to wish you good fortune.” Mara’s hand found hers. “I have been remiss, not visiting you as a soon-to-be-sister should.”

“I have sisters to keep me company, never fear.” Though Peggy and Eliza would be departing soon after the wedding. “I’ve not even seen much of John, I fear.”

“No? Is our father keeping him under lock and key?” Mara winced at the look of surprise on Angelica’s face. “The court is all very protective of us, you see. Especially John, the heir. He is not even allowed to visit me without guards and attendants, not after- well, there was an incident.”

 _An assassination attempt, probably._ There had been at least two that Angelica knew of, one ending with the execution of a man of the court. “I understand.”

“Still.” She signed, pressing one hand to her pale, unpainted lips. “I will have words with him before the wedding, ignoring you is not very princely.”

“I have seen him a few times,” Angelica protested, not wanting to get dragged into some family drama. And it was true; she had eaten dinner with John twice, and once they had gone walking in the garden. Not much for two months of engagement though, and she still couldn’t say she knew the man.

“He is shy. I’ll speak to him” Mara took Angelica’s hand in hers, looking troubled. “He will be a good husband to you,” she promised. “My brother is a good man, chivalrous and loyal.”

“I am glad to hear it.” And she was; marriages to strangers were always a tricky business. And for every person who reassured her of John’s kindness or nobility, there was one who spoke of his temper, his disregard for soldiers under his command during the siege of Charleston. “I look forward to getting to know him better.”

“And his sister?” Mara asked, looking down at her hands.

 _That’s it. She’s just lonely._ Suddenly, Angelica felt ashamed. If the palace was as restrictive as Mara described, it seemed unlikely that the princess had many people to share her confidences. She squeezed Mara’s hand, trying to make her voice warm. “His sister as well. It would be wonderful to have a new friend.” She would need many friends just to survive, in this unfamiliar court full of those who wished her fiance dead.

She got a dazzling smile in return. “Wonderful.” Mara Laurens stood, and plucked a tiara from the cushion a servant was holding. With utmost grace she placed it atop Angelica’s curls. “Now you look like a queen.”

Angelica turned to face the mirror.

She was luminous. Dazzling, sparkling, every part of her glowing. It was such a lovely picture that Angelica had to smile. _It can't be that bad. He seems a good man, thoughtful and just._ There was no love or passion between them, but perhaps that was too much to ask of a marriage. She was reasonably sure John would not abuse her, and most everything else was a matter of compromise. 

_And I will still be queen._ Not like she had wanted, ruling in her own right, but still... a queen could hold considerable power. "I am ready."

“That’s the spirit.” Mara flashed her another smile. “May your marriage be good and fruitful.”

“Thank you.” She dipped into a curtsy for the princess, and let herself be escorted into place.

The ceremony took place in the throne room. Over the past two months, visitors had arrived by the dozen to witness the joining of two royal families. Angelica had largely avoided them; these were the last days she had to spend time with her sisters.

Even now, they waited in the hall.

"You look beautiful!" Peggy cried, throwing her arms around Angelica so tight she was in danger of cutting off Angelica's air.

Eliza clasped her hand. "We wish you every happiness."

"Queen of South Carolina," Peggy murmured wistfully. "I want to be a queen."

Angelica tried to smile. "There are many gentlemen in attendance, including a few members of royal families. You may get lucky."

" _You_ got lucky." Peggy grabbed her other hand, squeezing it. "He's so very handsome, don't you think? Dashing."

"They say he rides a horse like he was born on one." There was a twinkle in Eliza's eye. "And hunts, a fences, and fought in the war."

Peggy looked towards the large oaken doors. "Is he wearing his uniform, do you think?" 

Her father approached, dressed in his finest regalia with a heavy crown upon his head. 

"Only one way to find out." Angelica winked at her sisters, so they would believe she felt no fear. Her father's arm was strong and steady, and he lead her through the doors and down the aisle.

 _Keep your head up_. For many, this would be their first impression of her. Her new court, foreign dignitaries, her _husband-_

He was there before her, in full military dress. King Henry stood with him, crowned and regal, but John wore only a simple silver circlet. His hair was pulled back tightly, well oiled, and he took her hand with a gallant smile. With hundreds of eyes watching her every move, she pledged to obey, serve, love, and honour John Laurens as long as they lived, and to forsake all others for him.

As she finished her vows, John nodded. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked noble enough as he slid the ring onto her finger. “With all my worldly goods and titles, I thee endow.”

She searched his eyes for love, for desire, for pride even. All she saw was compassion, and the even stare of duty. _It doesn’t matter. I don’t love him either, I hardly know him. That will come later._

They sat side by side at the wedding feast, John ensuring she had first choice of all the food. The wedding gifts piled around them as lords and ladies all offered their congratulations. It made her head swim, so many names and faces. Or maybe that was wine she had been sipping all morning, to steel her nerves.

“For the future king and queen,” Lord Steuben said, laying his gift on the table. A fine sword, polished until it shone. John picked it up, and Angelica could tell it pleased him. He tested the balance, the heft, and the placed it by his side.

“A sword fit for a king.” John declared, and Steuben bowed with a smile.

“My aide has a gift, as well.”

“Oh?” John nodded the boy forward. He was handsome in the extreme, sleek and elegant and young.

“Pierre du Ponceau, my aide.”

“A pleasure,” Angelica said, allowing the boy to kiss her hand. “I don’t believe I know your family, sir.”

“I have no family, princess.” Pierre dropped to one knee, holding out his gift. It was a dagger to match the sword. Angelica’s hands were on it before John could move.

“This one is for me, I trust?” She asked Pierre. Steuben let out a snort of impressed laughter. “A delicate little lady’s sword, I’m sure.”

“And do you need a sword at court, my lady?” John asked her mildly. 

“Mayhaps.” She turned it over in her hand, examining it. To her inexpert eye, it was fine work. “If my lord husband has so many enemies I may need to protect him.”

“You’ve done well for yourself, John.” Steuben clapped him on the shoulder. “A woman like that is almost fine enough to drag _me_ to the alter. Give her the dagger before she turns it on you.”

John fumbled. “Of course, my lady is welcome to anything of mine.” 

Angelica hid her smile as they accepted the next set of gifts. She didn’t expect to need the dagger, not really, but it was nice to prove she would be cowed by no man.

Soon the space around them was piled high with all sorts of fine things, including more jewelry than she’d ever need. Angelica took care to note what gifts the court saw as fitting John’s interests. He received new tack accented in silver, an engraved hunting horn, fine leather notebooks, and books. So many books.

“My lady?” John held up a hand to her as the last of the gifts were being taken away. “Shall we lead the dance?”

At least he was a good dancer, this husband of hers. He whirled her around the room, all eyes upon them. “I must ask your forgiveness,” he said as they danced.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “I will not grant it until you’ve told me what you’ve done.”

That earned her a laugh. “I have forsaken your company. My sister came to berate me, half the court at her side, for neglecting you. And her as well, I suppose.”

She moved with the music, into his arms and back out again. “And why do you so abandon the women in your life? Too many gentlemanly pursuits?”

“My frustration is with the court, not the company,” John admitted. “There are only so many hours in a day I can spend around simpering idiots, and most of them are taken up by politics. I cannot be around unmarried women without an escort, be they my sister’s attendants or my own fiancee.”

“Your father has very little trust in your honour then,” was all she could think to say. It was a harsh restriction, especially on a man of twenty seven. John was no young boy.

“My father has a kingdom to run,” John sighed. The music stopped, he bowed to her as other couples took the floor. “My lady, I know this marriage is not what you wanted-”

“But it happened, and now we must make the best of it.” She would not spent her life sulking and brooding, frustrated at the thing she could never have. “Love will grow in time, my prince.”

“Call me John.” 

They were married now, why not? “I promised to love you, John.” She repeated. 

“And you are the most beautiful woman in the world.” He kissed her hand, though if anything her words seemed to make him uncomfortable. “Angelica Laurens.”

Angelica Laurens.

Now _that_ was a queer thought. It would not do to shudder at her own wedding, so Angelica repressed it. 

“My I have the honour?” A man asked her, hand held out. John gave a curt nod, moving off towards the tables where food was still being served. She heard him calling for someone named Francis. 

Angelica took the man’s hand, eyes sweeping once over his features. A dark halo of hair, a tall frame, and a short purple cape. It wasn’t difficult to deduce his identity. “Why, King Thomas. It is always nice to meet royalty. What brings the king of Virginia so far from home, and without his crown?”

Thomas Jefferson laughed ruefully. “There is no getting around your mind, that is for sure. I left the crown in my rooms, I was advised it was not appropriate attire to another royal’s wedding. I see they let you wear one.”

“The privilege of marrying into the royal family.” She gave him a smile as he lead her through the dance.

“Alas, I am already married. She may think ill of it if I started marrying into royal families.” 

Before she could respond, the dancing broke them apart. She danced with her father, who was doing his best to not shed too many tears; with a man of John’s court she did not know but who wished her many children; with a delegate from Virginia by the name of James Madison. 

Then the music changed again, and she found herself face to face with the head of Henry Laurens’ council. “Lord Rutledge. You honour me.”

“The honour is mine.” He was tense, unsmiling, as he took her hand and his hand found her waist. “Your marriage to prince John is a very good thing for both of our kingdoms.”

“I am… glad of it.”

“Good. A lady at court must know who her friends are. John is a wild boy, of that there is no doubt.” He could get away with calling John wild, she supposed; Rutledge was past forty and his hair had gone to steel. 

“A woman’s touch has been known to gentle men,” she volleyed the words back, trying not to look intimidated. 

“Tell that to Martha.” Lord Rutledge’s smile was like a dagger. “You seem a charming girl, Angelica. I pray you are able to find happiness here, regardless of your husband’s… wills.”

“Thank you, my lord.” _Tell that to Martha?_ Mara Laurens, his sister, surely. Maybe she would ask, the next time she saw Mara. Better to be prepared. 

The dancing passed her off to another lord, then another. She couldn’t see John anywhere on the dance floor. _He will not have retired though. We must do that together._

Eventually, the clock ticked forward and the dancing wound down. Lords and Ladies began to make their excuses, wishing Angelica a blessed marriage as they retired for the night. Lord Gadsden whirled her gracefully around the floor for several songs, finally stopping to kiss her hand. “Thank you, my lady. It has been a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Gadsden.” She curtsied, as befit a princess, and tried to smile prettily. It didn’t help that she could see Alexander in the corner of her eye, dancing with some woman in a red dress. Not anyone too highborn, he wouldn’t dare, but he’d managed to find a partner. She resisted the urge to go over to him, and instead went to find her husband.

John was at the high table still, drinking with her father and a man she didn’t recognize. 

“And he said,” the man was laughing, words ever so slightly slurred, “‘That’s not the prisoner, sir, that’s my maiden daughter!’”

Her father laughed. Even John cracked a smile, though he shoved the man. “Your jokes are old and stale, Francis, get some new ones.”

“Yours just showed up it seems.” Francis nudged her husband hard in the ribs.

“My prince,” Angelica said, and John’s head whipped around to focus on her. From the look of things, he’d gotten himself well drunk. “Would you like to dance again?”

John stared at her for a long moment. Finally he shrugged, and pushed himself to his feet only to stumble. 

“I think he’s had enough,” King Philip said. “Kinloch, can you find someone to escort John to his room?”

“Yes, your Grace.” Kinloch dashed off, leaving them alone.

“I’m fine.” John protested. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Good.” Philip told him flatly. “You have one duty remaining to you tonight, one considerably more pleasurable than the ceremony.”

“Father!” Angelica burst out.

He grinned at her. “I’ve had a cup or two myself, I’ll admit. Forgive me, Angelica.”

She sighed. “A king can have as much wine as he desires, I suppose, even at his daughter’s wedding.”

“No.” He shook his head, staring at her intensely. “Forgive me.” He took her hand in his. “It had to be done. There was no other way.”

“I know that.” _It doesn’t make it any less bitter to swallow though._ But that was done and gone now, and she had to make the best of the future she had. “I forgive you, father.” Angelica kissed him on the cheek.

The frown on Philip’s face smoothed out. “Good. Good girl. Now go and do your duty.”

Her duty. Had any palace ever had so many stairs? They seemed a mountain, as she followed a young lady to John’s rooms. To _their_ rooms, now, though she’d been appointed separate rooms if she so desired them. _Will all my worldly goods and titles, I thee endow_. 

She walked once around the bedroom, trying to muster up some interest in it. This was all hers now too. The books on the shelf, the large bed stacked with every comfort, the spindly table graced with wine and a matching set of cups. Hers now, along with a kingdom. 

The door creaked open, making her jump. John stood in the doorway, another cup of wine in his hand. He had no servants with him.

 _Time to do your duty._ She forced a smile onto her face. “My prince, let me take that from you.”

“No. No _thank you_.” John pulled the cup close to his chest. “S’mine.”

“You’re drunk,” she said, uneasy. Drunk men could be dangerous, and she was all alone, and she had just signed over all rights to her own body.

John downed his drink in one. “Not yet. But I intend to be.” He walked over to the small table, poured a drink, then hesitated. “Would you like one?”

 _It will be easier if I am drunk as well._ “Yes, thank you.” When he handed her the drink she sipped without hesitating; letting the wine burn through to her stomach and quell her nerves. _It’s fine. John is a good man. An honourable man_. 

John had already swallowed most of his glass. “My prince?” She reached a hand towards him hesitantly - he looked lost, unsure. 

But John jerked away from her. “We need to- we must-”

“Consummate.” If he would not say it, she would. “Consummate our marriage, and hopefully create an heir.”

“Yes.” He nodded once, sharply. “An heir would be good. Very good.”

“Would you like to undress me?” She turned, presenting the back of her corset in what she hoped was an enticing way. Alexander loved undressing her, peeling away every layer and pressing kisses to her skin.

John only shuddered, once, before approaching her. His hand traced over her shoulder, then back, before coming to rest on the laces of her corset. With clumsy fingers he began to undo them. 

Finally, after several minutes of work, she was able to step away from him and unhook the corset. “Thank you.” It was supposed to be a purr, but something in her voice was rough. This night would not be one for pleasant teasing, it would seem.

 _Oh well. Best get it over with._ There would be years in which she could introduce him to the wonders of pleasant teasing. Angelica stepped out of her skirts, wearing only a chemise and underclothes now. “Shall I undress you?”

“No.” Again, John shied away from her hands. “Just… get in the bed.”

That was rude. Where was the gallant man from this morning? At least he wasn’t pawing at her. Angelica lay back in the large bed, watching John remove his breeches. “Have you had a woman before?” Surely he had. A prince, yes, and a man of twenty seven.

But John looked up, as if startled by the question. “No.”

“Oh.” That explained a lot. “There is nothing to be frightened of. Come here.” She beckoned him like she would Alexander, drawing him in until he knelt on the bed before her, fully nude. 

One of his hands rested on her knee. “Have you ever… no, of course not, I’m sorry.”

Well, she wasn’t about to admit she wasn’t chaste, especially not after finding out that he was. “There is nothing to be sorry for, my prince.”

“I am sorry,” he said determinedly, eyes struggling to focus, “that this is not better. That _I_ am not better, for you.”

“Shhh.” She had no idea what he was talking about. _He’s drunk and upset and not even hard yet, this is going to be a challenge._ She pushed him gently into the bed, and pressed her lips to his. John was a skittish kisser, and she chased his lips until he stopped shifting and allowed her to kiss him properly.

When they broke apart he murmured, “You are very beautiful, Angelica.”

 _He is remembering his courtesies, good._ “You are very kind, my prince. And handsome.” He _was_ handsome, young and athletic and well muscled. When she put her hands on his waist they barely spanned it. If she could just ignite some passion in him, he would be perfect. “Come,” she tried, laying down and pulling him on top of her. She moved his hands up her sides, rucking up the shift she still wore. “It is time to do your duty, my husband.”

“My duty.” He sighed. But when she put his hand on her breast, he pulled away.

“My prince?” There was no answer. He sat on the bed, naked, facing away from her. “John?” John just shook his head, reaching a hand up to tug the leather tie from his hair. As the curls tumbled down, she thought she heard something like a sob. 

“I’m fine.” When she reached for him he lept off the bed, walking towards the window. “Forgive me, I…. the wine… I fear I may be incapable tonight.”

“Incapable?” Angelica demanded. “Or scared?” He wouldn’t _look_ at her, kneeling on the bed with her clothes half off. “John, I am your wife-”

“And I don’t desire you.” His voice had gone flat. “Is that what you wanted? I don’t desire you, and I never did.”

She flinched as if struck. _My husband does not desire me._ She was not expecting love, not in an arranged marriage, but she’d expected _something_. “Why did you choose me, if I am such a disappointment to you?”

“I didn’t.” He was still at the window, still turned away so she couldn’t see his face. “My father did, in exchange for a political concession I wanted.”

He’d married her for a political concession. Angelica pulled the blanket up over herself, trying not to shiver. The glitz and glamour of court seemed far away; there was just this heavy room, locked in with a husband that didn’t want anything to do with her. She tried to summon her dignity. “I will go, then. I’m sure there are other women in the palace who will better please my lord’s fancies.” 

“What? No.” He turned, frowning at the expression on her face. “Angelica? Are you crying?”

“No.” She would not cry for him, not ever. “I had no illusions-”

“I’m sorry. Here, here,” He poured a cup of water from the bedside table, bringing it over to her. When she let to of the blanket to take the cup, he tucked it around her shoulder so she remained covered. “I’ve been beastly. This is no way to treat a woman on her wedding night.” 

“You were honest.” She sipped the water, letting the coolness of it clear her head. “I had no illusions about this marriage, there is no love between us, but I had hoped-”

“For a husband more pleasing than I?” He sighed, and she saw him steel himself. “Angelica, I’ve not been honest with you. I do not desire you, like I have not desired any woman.”

“That was rude of me.” To imply he had mistresses when he’d already stated otherwise.

“Angelica.” His eyes met hers, in the dim room. “I do not desire women.”

Her eyes widened. “You desire men.”

“Yes.”

Alexander had told her something of the sort, months ago. _It happens in war_ , he’d said, _among men who are so inclined._ That there were things men did with one another, that it was different than being with a woman but no better or worse.

 _You?_ She’d asked, suddenly curious. And Alexander had told her of a few covert affairs, brief things with other aides. Always in secret, many of the men married. She hadn’t understood, how a man could do such a thing and still take a wife.

 _Some of them love their wives,_ Alex had shrugged. _And it is no different than taking a mistress, except a man. And some only desire men. I don’t know how they do it._

“You don’t desire women at all?” She asked him, just to be sure. “No women you have ever met, common or highborn?”

John shook his head. “None. Ever.”

She resisted the urge to shout. “And what did you expect to do about this?”

He shifted, ran a hand through his hair. Angelica waited.

“I though, with enough alcohol…”

“You would be able to consummate?” She asked critically. 

John huffed, sprawling back onto the bed. He flicked a curl out of his face. “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t? I cannot imagine you were thrilled at the idea of a stranger in your bed either.”

He was missing the point. “I was not exactly counting the days, but-” she tried to frame it in a way he can understand, “I can’t believe you would marry a woman and not do your husbandly duty towards her. Hours after your vows, no less!”

“I married because I had to, Angelica.”

“I- put your trousers on if we’re going to have a conversation, goodness.” While John complied, she found a dressing down and pulled it over her body. “An unconsummated marriage… it is not a sin, per se, but-”

“A disappointment?” He offered. “I am hoping it will not be. Angelica, swear I will treat you as my wife in all other ways. Ask your counsel, respect you, defend you-”

“Get me with child?” That made him stop short, looking at her with wide eyes. “Yes, there’s the problem, is it not? You are the heir to the throne of South Carolina, and you need a son to rule after you. A son you will not have if you insist on shunning my bed.” At least he had the decency to look ashamed. 

Twelve hours ago, the very idea of this conversation would have been ridiculous. Even now it feels surreal. _What have you gotten yourself into?_

But she had still stood up there and made those vows. She had sworn herself to him for better or worse, though she hadn’t expected ‘worse’ to happen so soon. “We will find a way,” she said, with more courage than she felt. Her husband needed her to be strong. “I can ask my father-”

“You can’t tell anyone,” John said quickly, his eyes jolting up to meet hers. “No one knows. No one. It would ruin me, my father, everything. Our enemies are waiting for the slightest misstep.”

That Angelica understood. The South Carolina crown was more sturdy than her father’s, but they were both still young kingdoms with many powerful factions. “I hold your honour as my own,” she said. “We can find a way ourselves. If getting drunk didn’t work, maybe-”

She saw John hesitate, shift on the bed. “Yes?”

“You could…” he gestured emphatically. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Her cheeks grew hot. “You ask me to commit treason.” She had pushed all thoughts of Alexander from her mind when she’d walked down the aisle; a lover was not something allowed to a crown princess. The punishment, if found, was death to both parties. “I promised to keep your honour. Do not ask me to risk mine, and my life.” _And Alexander’s._

“You’re right.” John ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Angelica softened. “You’ve had too much wine. Come and share the bed, and tomorrow we’ll plan.”

She shifted over in the bed, to make room for him. John slid underneath the covers beside her, and watched her for a long moment. His eyes were glassy, but still sincere.

“I’m glad it was you,” he said finally. “If it had to be someone, I’m glad it was you.”

“Go to sleep,” Angelica ran a hand over his hair in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. Hopefully it would make up for the fact that she could not return the sentiment.


	3. ALEXANDER I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander meets some old faces and some new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special guest beta by Oaxara as well as Syn, because of some bad pneumonia. Between a lag getting this to a beta and the essays for school, it is a week late. Which sucks, but it means you only have to wait three weeks for the next one right?

Well, Alexander will give the princess some credit: she lasted almost a whole week before summoning him again. Alexander smirked as the page boy reads off the message, and took his sweet time climbing all those stairs to the royal apartments.

 _This is the last time_ , she’d said the day of her wedding. Clearly her husband wasn’t doing his proper duties towards her. Alexander had thought he looked like a puritan.

“Princess?” But when he opens the door, Angelica is playing cards with her sister-in-law, fully clothed and sipping wine with a disinterested air. Alexander wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “You called for me?”

“I did.” She gave him a polite smile. “I was telling Martha about your thoughts on the retreat in New Jersey-"

"The _battle_ of New Jersey," Alexander corrected her, stung. "A battle we lost, my lady, but it was a battle all the same. To say otherwise is nothing but propaganda intent on smearing General Washington at the cost of the honour of those who died there."

Both women traded looks. "The _former_ General Washington." Mara corrected cautiously. "He is the former general."

"Pay him no mind," Angelica said quickly. "My father's secretary-" but she fell silent as the princess spoke.

"Angelica said... she said you were _there_."

Alexander gave a short, courtly bow. "I was, my lady. I had the honour of serving as General Washington's aide de camp." Angelica's head snapped over to glare at him. "Former General's aide de camp," he corrected gruffly.

"Oh my," Mara breathed. "That must have been very dangerous."

"Tell her," Angelica nodded at Alexander "tell her about the fighting and the marches."

It would not do to glare at the princesses, so Alexander confined it to the floor. _I am not a spectacle._ Still, he did enjoy the chance to play a dashing hero... It was better to be admired than forgotten, he told himself, as much as he hated recounting those days.

"We marched for two days, scarce resting, trying to outpace the British troops pouring out of Yorktown and the surrounding areas. Finally we managed to get half a day ahead of them, and the General ordered the men to form up. We fought the British mercenaries to a standstill..." He didn't close his eyes, but somehow he could still taste the dust and sweat in his mouth, see bayonets glinting in the sun. Men all around him, tired and wounded... Washington had been loath to let his aides de camp fight, but there had been little choice. They were in dire need of men with combat experience who could lead troops.

"And then?" Angelica prompted. "What happened then?" They were both gazing at him intently. Alexander squirmed.

"Battle," he tried to say. "Death. Defeat, or as good as."

She gave him a look. "Be more specific."

He returned her look with interest. Now it was Mara who shifted, uncomfortable. Alexander's voice was cool. "I took a wound in the battle, princess. I'm afraid further details are lost to me." It was a lie, he remembered every moment of his last battle with Washington. It didn't matter; in that moment he would sooner be mute forever than recount it to be tittered over by bored noblewomen. He hated every single thing about their pleasant tones of voice, their curious eyes, their soft and fluttering hands. "Pray excuse me, princesses. I have work to do."

The dismissal had barely left Angelica's lips before he was out the door, hurrying past the guards and to the staircase that would take him away.

"Wait!" A soft voice stopped him. "Please, sir-"

He turned, bowed again. "Princess Martha."

"Mara, please. There are so many Marthas around.”

“Princess Mara. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, I just-” She flushed, looking uncomfortable. “I just wanted to ensure you were well. You didn’t look... well, it doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

“As you say, princess.” He forced out the empty courtesies. “Princess Angelica will be waiting for you.”

She smiled faintly. “I think I am retiring for the evening.”

Ever obliging, one of the guards stepped away from the wall to walk with her. Alexander sighed. “My lady, may I walk you to your rooms?” It was the gentlemanly thing to do.

Mara flushed, mouth tightening for a moment before smoothing out. “It is not permitted. You are unmarried, and my father, and it would be… it would not be proper.”

A spark of rage flashed through him. “As you say. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Alexander walked for a moment down the hallway, until the guards had turned the corner. Then he whirled around, striding back towards Angelica’s chambers. “Princess!” He shoved the door open.

She wandered into the room, frowning when she saw him. “Oh. Did you forget something?”

“Yes. This.” He swept her up in both arms and kissed her. He kissed her senseless, kissed her until he couldn’t think save for the roaring in his ears. He needed not to think right now, and kissing her was better than any alcohol. 

When they broke apart, Angelica was shaking. “Stop. Please. It’s treason…”

“It is.” He kissed her again, her lips and her neck and the tops of her breasts. “Don’t you want to?”

Her hand found his hair, and she used it to jerk Alexander up for another bruising kiss. “You are,” she murmured as he unlaced her corset with swift fingers, “impulsive… dangerous…”

He got the dress off her. “Yes,” Alexander said mindlessly. He was getting what he wanted, he didn’t mind her words. “All of those things.”

“And I still want you. What is wrong with me?”

He wasn’t listening, too busy shucking off his trousers and joining her on the bed. “Come here.”

She trembled as his hand brushed over her cheek, down her neck and over her breasts. “This is how it was supposed to be. You, like this, and I.”

“Yes,” she whispered. Her eyes closed. “Yes, yes, _yes_.”

A day went by, then another. Alexander did accounts for Philip Schuyler, wrote out orders, and drafted messages. The problem was that the work took up less than half of his day, so far from the courts of New York and Jersey. The princess, while calling on him regularly again, took up scarcely another hour.

He was getting bored.

As a secretary, all the most interesting parts of the palace where shut off to him. He couldn’t sit in on secret meetings, couldn’t broker deals or argue legislation. But that didn’t mean he was helpless. There had to be places where he could occupy his time.

The library, for one. John Laurens was a bookish sort, it was said, and the king respected learning. Their library was said to be immense.

Unfortunately, so was their palace. He had to ask directions three times, finally stopping a young man in a dashing coat. “Do you know the way to the palace library?”

“I’ll take you there myself,” the man answered congenially. “Your fluster suggests you’ve been searching a while.”

“I was beginning to fear my quest would end in failure,” Alexander sighed, ducking his head.

The man laughed. “Then we are well met. Francis Kinloch.”

“Alexander Hamilton.” He fell into step beside Francis, struggling to keep up - Francis was significantly taller.

“Hamilton,” Francis hummed. “Are you related to the Scottish Hamiltons?”

“Distantly,” Alexander admitted, trying not to react. _Illegitimately._ He shrugged. “I doubt they could recall me.”

“Ah, well. My family is in a similar boat. Here we are!” Francis threw open the door, stepping into the light of a beautiful library. Wide, high windows streamed in sunlight, illuminating the shelves of books. So many books. They filled the shelves, piled on the tables, and were stacked in corners, all leather-bound and spelling of dusty parchment. Alexander closed his eyes as the smell washed over him.

“Maria!” Francis called, striding ahead unheeding. “I know you’re around here somewhere.”

“Hiding from lordlings who can’t keep their voices down, no doubt,” a woman remarked, stepping out from behind a shelf. Alexander turned, opening his eyes and finding himself face to face with his partner from the wedding reception. “Oh, hello.” She curtsied briefly. “I was wondering if you had gone.”

“Alexander, this is Mrs. Maria Reynolds, keeper of the library and one of the teachers for the palace children. Maria, Alexander of the Scottish Hamiltons.”

“Well met, sir,” Maria said politely.

Well, if there was one thing he knew it was how to talk to women. “It’s an honour to again meet such a lovely lady,” Alexander said, taking her hand and kissing the back. Just as his lips touched the skin of her hand he glanced up at her with heavy lidded eyes. 

Maria did not blush, did not react at all beyond quickly removing her hand. “You flatter, sir. Can I help you?”

“A book to return,” Kinloch interrupted. He withdrew a volume from his pocket and handed it to her. “Now will you let me read _Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of the Continental Congress_?”

Maria looked swiftly around. “We have no such book.”

“Maria-”

They were cut off by Alexander’s snort. “Free thoughts? That rubbish? Loyalist drivel.”

“-Can I help you, sir?” Maria asked him, voice hardening.

A tone he was happy to match. “A pen and paper. I have correspondence to keep up.”

She got him the materials, and Alexander installed himself at the desk underneath the window. _Sir,_ he wrote, as he always began his letters to Washington. _I have received your letter dated the 29th of November and write to you now from the court of Henry Laurens, whose son has taken Philip Schuyler’s daughter to wife. I am of the belief that this alliance can only help your cause, sir, as Henry Laurens has no love for General Gates and even withdrew his son rather than have him serve with such._

_He maintains forces at the western border to guard against one King Aaron Burr, and twice the number in the north. It is widely accepted he prepares to assault the Dominion of North Carolina, and believes they would welcome reunification. I do not expect him to move before the spring, however. I look forward to your thoughts on this, and all other matters you choose to share._

He hesitated, then signed it,

_I have the honour to be,_  
_Forever your loyal colonel,_  
_A. Ham_

He sighed, setting down the pen. He had been _so close._ A soldier in the patriot army was one thing, and he had climbed ranks and earned the beginnings of recognition for noble valour. And then General Washington had asked for him personally, with an offer he couldn’t refuse.

_Dying is easy young man. Living is harder._

He was right. Sometimes Alexander felt like it would have been better to die in battle, sacrificing himself to his ideals, than to live like this.

One moment he had been an aide de camp, Washington’s trusted lieutenant colonel, signing papers in his name and courting the lovely Kitty Livingston. It was a stretch, to be sure, but not much of one. He was sure to achieve position after the war, in the new administration Washington would build.

And then, in a heartbeat, it had all been destroyed. Washington replaced, his aides thrown out. Lafayette had taken himself back to France, the other noble boys gone home to their fathers, and Alexander was left to pick up the pieces of his dreams.

He didn’t write to Kitty anymore. It had been three years since she had answered one of his letters, this girl he had once hoped to marry. Through Philip’s court, he had heard she’d wed Stephen Van Rensselaer.

 _Too good for you, Alexander_ , he thought savagely, starting a new letter. _Kitty and Angelica both, too important to be wasted on someone like you. If only they knew._ That was the great satisfaction in his dalliance with Angelica, one he was not keen to give up.

In the other corner of the library, he could hear laughter. When he turned, Maria was talking to a short man with a bemused smile. “We do have books on bees, Your Grace,” she said. “I’m happy to lend them to your daughter.”

Your Grace… a young king with a bookish daughter. “Aaron Burr!” Alexander filled in the blanks, standing up in excitement. “Aaron Burr!”

Aaron turned quickly, eyes scanning him. “Who are you?”

Alexander frowned. “Alexander,” he said, trying not to sound desperate. _Don’t you remember me?_

“One of the King’s attendants?”

“He’s with Philip Schuyler’s court,” Maria explained quickly. “Their secretary.”

“Ah.” And, just like that, it was as if he didn’t exist. Aaron’s eyes passed right over him as he turned back to the librarian.

“Mr. Burr, sir!” It was how Alexander had addressed his letters when they were young. It was a shocking form of address now, to someone who had made himself a king, but Alexander couldn't tolerate letting him walk away, uncaring. Aaron turned. “We corresponded, in school.”

“In school?”

“You attended Princeton.” He had to remember. Alexander had written him so many letters, exchanging thoughts on the politics of the day. “You gave me advice, on my meeting with the bursar.”

“I don’t remember you from school.”

“I ended up attending King’s College.” Before dropping out to fight in the war. By the time they had won, the money had run out and he had taken a position as Philip Schuyler’s secretary. “Hundreds of letters. You called my views on the constitution dangerous and provocative.”

“All views on the constitution are dangerous and provocative,” Burr said dismissively. “But… yes, I recall your letters. There were many of them.”

"And now you're a king." Alexander shook his head. "Whatever happened to that woman you loved? Did her husband ever come home?"

Burr's voice was cold. “I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Theodosia, she passed information to Washington, you must remember. I've never seen you so smitten."

Maria's hand was over her mouth, hiding her shock. Aaron Burr's eyes narrowed.

"Alexander."

"Honestly, I was expecting her to be your queen. Was she not wealthy enough for the privilege? I know-"

"She died." The words fell, flat, at Alexander’s feet.

"Oh." Well, that was awkward. "Burr, I'm sorry."

" _Your Grace_ ," Maria correctly quietly.

Burr straightened, visibly, and composed himself. "She is with God now. And she left me with a daughter. Theo is three, and loves nothing more than books about bugs."

"She-" It took a moment for Alexander to unstick his tongue. "She sounds like she has quite the mind."

"She does." Finally, he pulled a smile out of Burr. "Three years old and she's already reading some of them herself. I name her equal to any son."

Now _that_ was interesting. "You name your daughter your heir?" In absence of a son, sure, but-

"Theo is my heir, regardless of any more children I may have." He frowned. "And it seems I _must_ wed again, so they tell me."

That did not surprise Alex. Burr's kingdom was fragile, held together by nothing more than the militia he had gathered and the fact that his rivals had bigger targets. A wealthy, well-connected wife would do a lot to solidify his legitimacy as a ruler.

"I had hoped to speak to Philip Schuyler about his daughter Angelica, but I was late arriving to the court and missed the wedding." Burr shrugged. "All for the best, I suppose."

"Philip still has two daughters," Alexander observed. "Eliza and Peggy. Both charming girls."

He sighed. "If only I was still a charming man. Pray you excuse me..." And before Alexander could parse out what exactly he'd meant by that, Burr was gone.

It didn't take Maria long. "He doesn't want to wed again."

"What?" Alexander turned to her. She just looked sad.

"He's still mourning his wife, and now he has to marry someone else or lose everything."

Alexander scoffed. "Pardon me for not feeling sorry for royalty. If they want to trade position with me, they can anytime." He would marry the highborn lady, and they could write Philip's letters.

Maria just sighed. "No one should have to marry against their will, by force or by circumstance."

"Then there would be a lot more spinsters in the world, my lady." Alexander flashed a grin, letting his eyes linger.

She drew back. “Stop that.”

“What?” He didn’t understand. “Have I offended you?”

She drew her arms around her waist. “I have a husband.”

“So?” It wasn’t as if he’d been proposing marriage. “You didn’t see it fit to lecture Francis Kinloch.”

“Kinloch is the son of a lord,” she hissed, “and not accustomed to taking orders from librarians. And his eyes do not linger as yours do.”

“My apologies, my lady.” Even if she was overreacting, he wasn’t going to get anything from arguing in the library. “I forgot myself in the presence of such beauty.”

She sighed, but allowed him the compliment. "Is there something can I help you with, sir? I still have a few minutes before I have to go and see the little ones for reading."

"There is something." He nodded at the short man sitting in the corner, reading a book. "Who is that gentleman? I’ve not seen him around the court, and I don’t think I’ve met him before.”

"That's the Lord James Madison," Maria said. "He came with King Thomas from Virginia, but when the king departed he elected to stay until the winter's ball. His health does not allow him frequent travel. He's a good man, rather quiet. Kind."

That was a good enough recommendation for Alexander. "Thank you, my lady." He pulled back, dipping into a respectful bow. "Philip Schuyler departs two days hence, so if I do not see you again please allow me to tell you that you are all a man can hope for in a dancing partner. Good luck with Henry Laurens’ little ones."

Her terse correction, "His Grace!" was lost as Alexander crossed through the stacks of books and approached James Madison.

“That’s a fine book.” He tapped the spine of the book Madison was reading, _Letters on the Elementary Principles of Education_.

“It is.” Madison carefully marked his place before lowering the book. “Alexander Hamilton. What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I-” Alexander stopped, at a loss suddenly. “How do you know my name?”

“You were Washington’s aide de camp during the war. If I didn’t know your face I would know you by your papers. The Farmer, Refuted? The Continentalist? Remarkable thoughts, even on an unfortunate subject.”

“Well.” Alexander wasn’t about to betray his flush of relief at being seen at last. “It was a different time, in a different place…”

“I happen to agree with you, by the way.”

“You do?” At Madison’s gesture, Alexander slid into the chair opposite. Sitting eye to eye he could see Madison was even smaller and slighter than he was. 

“Yes. On the importance of working together under one rule.” His voice was surprisingly calm, considering his words were enough to get a man beaten in certain parts of the city.

Alexander leaned forward. “The colonies need to work together to survive. Petty kingdoms run the risk of getting poached off by bigger players. It’s ridiculous to think they’ll let us squabble amongst ourselves forever.”

“It’s true.” Madison looked him over with cool, careful eyes. “What does the great Alexander Hamilton plan to do about it?”

What was he going to do about it? “Nothing,” Alexander admitted. “I have no power.”

“You have more than you think.” His fingers beat against the paper rhythmically. “Philip Schuyler holds you in great esteem. He knows what you are, even if the world does not.”

“I am his secretary,” Alexander scoffed. “Not some high ranking adviser.”

“But he listens to you.” Madison shrugged. “That’s often more important, I’ve found. I trust he is at least open to considering some kind of confederation?”

“Open to it, though I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say so explicitly,” Alexander admitted. “He’s won two kingdoms, and I don’t imagine he’s willing to give them up easily. But he has no sons, unless something drastic happens he will leave no heirs. His eldest is already wed to South Carolina.”

“To a man who is also amenable to such a coalition,” Madison pointed out. 

“True, but-”

“Hamilton!”

Alexander’s head turned sharply. A page stood in the doorway, looking vaguely irritated..

“The king wants you.”

“Which one?” Alexander said, before he could stop himself. Madison lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing.

The page scowled. “King _Philip_. He has letters for you to copy out.”

 _Duty calls._ How he wished he was one of the nobility, with a job that involved nothing but discussing policy and trying to implement it. He glanced ruefully at Madison, suddenly flushed with embarrassment. 

But Madison stood smoothly, taking his book with him. If his smile was small, at least it seemed friendly. “I’m staying here at court until the winter’s ball. I look forward to further conversations on this subject.”

As he worked away that evening, Alexander thought about Madison’s words. It was nice to have a friend. And if meeting him in the library gave him more chances to strike up conversations with Maria, well, that was all the better. She was a puzzle.

Philip dismissed him early that night, with instructions that he would not be needed until after supper the next day. There was little left to do, so the following day Alexander was bored enough to investigate the palace. He found the kitchens without issue, and spent an hour watching the workers roast, bake, and stew meals for the upper class. Then, stomach considerably fuller, he followed the long hallway along to where the rest of the staff lived and worked. A new jacket would be in order, one to match the finery of the southern court.

There was a whole community within the palace, one the nobility rarely saw unless they wanted to sample it. He passed a cobbler, a miller, a weaver, until finally coming upon a tailor. "Good afternoon, sir." He eyed one of the samples in the doorway, a shawl of thinnest cotton. "You do fine work."

"You should know," a familiar voice answered. 

Alex couldn't believe his ears. "Hercules?" His old friend emerged from the back room, grinning, and Alex ran into his arms.

Hercules squeezed him once, so tightly it seemed to cut off his air, then let him back down. "There you go."

"How did you... where did-" Alexander stared up as his friend, uncomprehending. South Carolina was the last place he expected to find and old friend from Washington's army. "You got out then?"

"By the skin of my teeth." Hercules waved him into a back room, to a desk and set of chairs. "Horatio Gates didn't think much of my assignments from the general. Or anyone spying for him. A man in Washington’s main spy ring tipped me off, and I just made it out before Gates decided that anyone spying on the British for Washington would probably spy on the patriots too."

Alexander winced. So he wasn't the only one cut off at the knees. "But you made it out?" he prompted.

"I did." Hercules dug under the desk, finally producing a bottle of cheap wine and two glasses. "Decided I might as well come here. Henry Laurens was always a friend of Washington's, I figured he was unlikely to hang me for following orders. I didn't know he'd end up king of the place."

"Nor I," Alexander said with vehemence. He downed his glass of wine. "Philip Schuyler rules New York now."

Hercules snorted. "I heard. The Kingdom of New York and Jersey. Pompous shoerag." He finished his own drink, then pushed himself to his feet. "But you came to see a tailor. What'll it be? A fine new hunting cloak? A jacket to impress the others at dinners? A dress for Mrs. Hamilton?"

Alexander flushed. "There is no Mrs. Hamilton, I'm afraid."

"No Mrs. Hamilton?" Hercules scoffed, still smiling. "You didn't take her father's name? Are you Alexander Livingston now?"

"I am Alexander Hamilton, as I always was." He broke away, unable to face his friend. "She would not have me."

"Not have you? Alexander..."

"No one would. There are no fine dinners. I am King Philip's secretary."

"His _secretary_?" There were clouds gathering in Hercules' voice. "You're joking Alexander- after everything Washington did-"

"Everything Washington did, they undid." It hurt him to say it. "I had led no battles, done nothing but write the general's letters." 

"You organized troops and fought beside them," Hercules argued back. "You negotiated with congress, Alexander, you signed the general's own name."

"And bullied Horatio Gates into giving up two battalions of troops to reinforce New Jersey." Only they had been too little, too late. "He has not forgotten, I assure you, and made sure that the bastard upstart learned his place."

Hercules poured them both another glass of wine, studying Alexander as he drank it. "King's College was not destroyed," he said finally. "Why not go back to school? Be a lawyer?"

Alexander laughed humorously. "The funding for my education was invested in continental bonds. The ones that no kingdom is willing to pay for, as we no longer have the continental congress they funded. It's gone."

Hercules cursed. "Then you really have nothing."

It was tempting to agree. He had, many a night, expressed the same sentiment. "I have some things," he said instead. He thought of the library that awaited him, the general's letters, Angelica stretched out in bed. "And I did want to talk about a new waistcoat."

"Red?" Hercules asked. "The king's colours?"

"Green," Alexander decided after a moment. 

His friend grinned. "Prosperity. I like it. The same style?"

"A little more modern." Alexander tugged as his current waistcoat, "A little shorter here, these lines more... severe?"

"Yes, god forbid anyone accuse _Alexander Hamilton_ of being a dandy. How many waistcoats do you have now?" 

Alexander hit his shoulder. "I just don't want to be mistaken for a servant is all."

"One fine green waistcoat, coming up." Hercules drew up the order. "I have your measurements still. You can come get it fitted in a week’s time."

"I will be back then." Alexander stood to go, but Hercules caught him arm.

"Alexander. Stay a moment."

"What is it?" His heartbeat picked up. "Something to do with our general?"

"Nothing of the sort." Hercules looked uncomfortable. "It's the court. Alexander... you've come to a very dangerous place."

Alexander snorted. "Hardly more dangerous than New York, with mobs in the streets and the Clintons planning a coup." But still, he sat back down and picked up his cup.

"Yes, more dangerous. South Carolina has no mobs, it's true, but that's because all of the snakes to incite them live here." He waved a hand at the imposing walls of the Laurens family palace outside the door. "There's been two assassination attempts on the crown prince within the last six months, did you know?"

"No." Now _that_ was interesting. "Who?"

Hercules grimaced. "No one knows. He has no lack of enemies. The first time, it was a shot from a window while they were riding through town. The guard stormed every nearby structure but couldn't find anyone. Then, two months later, at dinner someone tried to poison him. It was only the man's distaste for roast ox that saved him - he passed the portion to a friend, who died. The man who held the dinner was hung as a traitor, but he maintained his innocence until the end. He was a good friend of the prince, so I heard."

Even now, three years after the war, and Hercules' mind still worked like that of a spy. It was valuable information. "Have they _any_ leads?"

Hercules shrugged. "None they are willing to risk losing face enough to pursue. Gadsden and Rutledge have made no secret their dislike for the prince. But it can be any number of people. A woman he's scorned. His own father. The entire government of North Carolina, hoping that in his grief Henry will turn from his invasion plans.

"I'll tell you this, though," Hercules drank the last of the wine, "I feel sorry for the kid."

"Kid?" Alexander scoffed. "He's older than I am!" He had a hard time feeling sorry for anyone as privileged as John Laurens. He knew John had fought battles - Charleston was more than enough to prove his mettle. But had his father not been Henry Laurens, Alexander doubted John would have been offered that level of command at the age of twenty four.

"Man, then." Hercules was unbothered. "That man was confined to the castle and the royal grounds after the first attempt, and given guards to follow him night and day. He is not allowed to be in the presence of women without a witness - any woman, married or no. They watch his every move, and those who aren't trying to protect him are evaluating him for weaknesses."

"He should have thought of that before his father became king," Alexander grumbled. But still, he could understand what Hercules was saying. It sounded like a lonely, fractured existence, funneled into proprietary and chained down in the name of security. He wondered when this prince had last done anything for the fun of it. 

"So Alexander, please be _safe_ ," Hercules reminded him. "This is a dangerous court. These men will kill you if you misstep. Don't do anything stupid."

Alexander said nothing, looking studiously out the door.

"Alexander." Hercules sounded pained. "You did something stupid didn't you."

Alexander huffed. "Why," he began, "must you assume that I did something stupid-"

"Did you?"

Alexander stood. "If I had, should you really be asking me about it?"

Hercules did not back down. "Alexander." He looked wounded. "Have I not proved I can keep a secret?"

He had. He really had. "I have... the princess..." Suddenly, he didn't know how to say it. "The princess Angelica... and I..."

Thankfully he didn't have to. Hercules' eyes went wide. "Alexander..." He sounded almost faint. "You _didn't_."

"I did." And, because it was just as well to be damned for the whole truth, he added, "Several times. Many times. For months."

"Before she was married-"

"And after."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Alexander... that's treason. High treason, it's got to be."

"I _know_ that."

Hercules slammed his hand down on the table, making the glasses rattle. "Then why did you do it?"

Why had he done it? _The princess' wish is my command,_ he might have said, but when he met Hercules' gaze the joke died on his lips. "I don't know."

"But you'd do it again, if you had the chance?"

There was no use denying it. "Yes." 

It gave him something he didn't get anywhere else. Angelica _saw_ him. His mind, the good and the bad of it. His reasonings and his quirks and his lusts. For those few moments, he was something other than Philip Schuyler's Secretary. He was Alexander, worthy of being with Philip Schuyler's daughter.

Hercules shook his head. "Be careful, Alexander. You're playing with vipers here."

What else was he to do? Not play at all? But Hercules meant well, so Alexander bumped his old friend in the shoulder. "If you can make it out of New York alive, I can handle a tempestuous princess. Trust me."

Hercules sighed. "I do. Just... take care of yourself, Alexander."

It was late by the time Alexander reported to Philip Schuyler's rooms. The king of New York and Jersey had been given lavish apartments, as befitting his station, and Alexander had to climb a distressing number of stairs before he found himself in Philip's office. "Your Grace."

Philip was standing by the window, watching the courtyard below. Handsomely dressed lords and ladies wandered by, deep in conversation. At the sound of Alexander's voice, he turned. "There you are. Good. We are leaving here the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Grace." Leaving Angelica all alone with her new husband. Leaving Hercules, when Alexander had only just found him again.

"I have letters I need written, goodbyes and thank yous to all the notable figures..."

"It shall be done, Your Grace." He could do it tomorrow, sitting in the library.

Philip sighed. "No need to write one for my daughter, I will say goodbye personally. Goodbyes are... difficult, as you well know."

"Yes." Angelica. He was going to miss Angelica; her wit, her liveliness, her warmth. 

Philip was watching him with inscrutable eyes. "If things could have been different... well, there's no use living in what could have been, I suppose. We have a kingdom to run. Henry Laurens is dispatching a company of soldiers to accompany us to New York."

Now _that_ was interesting. "From the western border or the northern?" he asked eagerly. "Your Grace."

Philip cracked a smile. "The western. Whatever Aaron Burr has said, it was apparently enough to convince Henry that he was done with taking territory."

Perhaps Aaron Burr had found a wife after all. Alexander had heard plenty of Martha Laurens, John's sister, twenty two and unmarried. _That would clinch the deal. Marry Martha off to free up soldiers, marry John to Angelica to have an excuse to send them north._ Henry was making moves, and if Philip had no more children Henry stood a decent chance of his descendants ruling two kingdoms through inheritance alone. It was also impossible to miss the number of troops marshalling at the border with North Carolina. _He wants that too, and the people will likely thank him._ A popular king, ruling multiple kingdoms... 

He would write to Washington again tomorrow, Alexander decided. His general had ever been a friend to Henry Laurens, but it would not hurt to offer another perspective. In these unstable times, it was always better to be informed…

And then they would leave, leaving everything that made life bearable behind. 

_Oh well,_ Alexander sighed as he began writing out a letter. He’d survived before, he’d survive again.


	4. MARIA I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria meets the princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, always, to Syn for betaing

Maria was just finishing reading to the palace's youngest children when Henry Laurens Jr appeared at the door. Most members of the court would turn, bow, and ask the nine year old prince what they could do for him; he was used to such things. Maria did not turn, instead choosing to continue her story as if he were not there.

"And then, in the middle of the night, the Trojan Horse opened and soldiers came pouring out! They were hiding inside, you see, knowing that the Trojans couldn't resist stealing the horse. They opened the gates of Troy, and the Greek army won the battle." She took the time to meet every child's eyes, ensuring they understood. "They won not because they were stronger or had more men, but because they were clever and used the Trojan's weaknesses against them."

She got four nods in return. "Good. Now, I believe Madame Breuil is waiting to ensure you eat your lunch. Run along. You too Frances, you don't want to be late." Frances, four years old and full of mischief, flashed her a smile.

"I want a giant wooden horse to defeat my enemies."

Maria smiled. "You have no enemies, dear. And if you did, you have the entire guard to defeat them for you." 

"I don't care. I want a horse to outsmart them."

"If the Greeks have already used a horse, it's not very clever just to copy them." Frances stared, bright and uncomprehending. "How about you go for a ride on Jessamine after lunch?" A real pony was a much more suitable substitute.

That worked; Frances beamed. "I'm going to ride all the way to Troy!"

Once Frances was gone, Maria took her time packing up her things. Her back still to the prince, she spoke. "If you wanted to join storytime, you ought to come a little sooner, my prince."

"I don't want storytime," he said, but nothing else. He was going to try and make her guess.

Maria said nothing merely continued ruffling through her things and putting them in order.

Finally he spoke. "I wanted to see my sister."

"Princess Martha or Princess Mary?" 

"Mary." Prince Henry looked down, shuffling his feet.

"She's with her music tutor today I'm afraid. His Grace decided she should learn to play piano." Five years old was young to start learning, but such things were expected of royalty. Maria just hoped it didn't signal the girl being taken away from the people who had been instructing her and caring for her for the first five years of her life. At least, not so soon. "Is there something else I can do for you, my prince?"

He shuffled his feet again. "Can you tell me a story?"

"You're too old for stories, now, come on." She stood. "It's time for your midday meal."

"What about a story for older children?" Prince Henry asked eagerly. "For princes. A prince story."

She couldn't help but smile. "A prince story? I think I may have one or two of those. Come and sit." She took her place back on the long bench against the wall, indicated that he should sit beside her. "Have I told you the story of King Arthur?”

“You told me the story of King Arthur and the squirrel.” Henry said. “And King Arthur and Mordred.”

“But did I tell you the story of King Arthur and Guinevere?”

“Guinevere ran away with Lancelot, the knight.” With only a moment’s hesitation Henry pulled up his legs and leaned into her side, like a small child. 

“He did. But do you know what happened after?" 

Henry just looked at his feet. "They ran away and lived happily ever after."

She couldn't help but smile. "They did run away, but I'm afraid there were no happily ever afters. Arthur was devastated, and Camelot was in shambles without a queen to run her."

"But the king runs the land!"

"No." She held up a hand, to make sure he understood. "Kings rule, yes, but the burdens of ruling are too much for one man to bear. Even a man like king Arthur. Why else did he have the round table? Why else does your father have a court? To ensure he does not rule alone. Guinevere ruled the castle and court, as your lady mother did before her death and as your sister does now." Though Martha did little ruling, in truth. The king preferred to keep her safely tucked away, a figurehead only. Maria couldn't remember the last time she'd even _seen_ the princess. _It is one way to preserve her chastity, I suppose, though one that will have repercussions when she finally experiences the world._

Little Henry nodded, absorbing her lesson. "Camelot was in shambles..." he prompted.

"So Arthur decided he must find his bride. What if Lancelot had only kidnapped her, and she was in need of rescue? He had to make sure she was safe. Using magic given to him by Merlin, Arthur finally tracked Guinevere to a shady glen. He spoke to her, and Arthur found the worst thing he could imagine."

"What? Was she hurt?"

"No. She was _happy._ She loved Lancelot, and he her, far more than they had loved their friend and their king. And Arthur's hands were tied. The punishment for a queen's adultery has always been death. It didn't matter that he understood, it didn't matter that he loved them both and would rather see them happy and free. They had broken the law, and they had to pay for it."

"That's not fair." Henry snapped, drawing away. "They weren't hurting anybody!"

"Weren't they?" Maria asked him softly. "Camelot needed a queen, and she did not have one. Arthur needed and heir, and he did not have one. Guinevere had chosen love over her duty, and thee kingdom suffered. Besides, they had broken the law. The king must prove, always, that he will uphold the law for his people in all things."

"So what did he do?"

"He took Guinevere back to Camelot, and announced she would be burned at the stake for her crimes."

"No!"

"Yes. That was the punishment in those days. On the appointed day the whole kingdom came out to watch, to see if he would burn his queen. Duty or love? Guinevere had made her choice, and now Arthur made his. Down the steps to the pyre, until-"

She stopped, sensing a figure in the doorway. "Lord Rutledge. What can we do for you?"

"I came to fetch the prince." Under the weight of Rutledge's eyes Henry pulled away from Maria, curling in on himself just slightly. "You must be careful, prince Henry, and not worry the court. Your absence was noticed."

Henry addressed the lord's shoes. "I just wanted to see my sister and lady Maria."

"Nonetheless, you are a prince and should act like it. If anything ever happened to John, you would be your father's heir."

"And what would happen to John, my lord?" Maria asked, careful to keep her voice sweet.

And regretted it immediately, because he turned his eyes on her. It wasn’t a glare, merely the gaze of someone who didn’t want to trouble himself. “Come along, prince Henry. Your tutor should be able to keep up with current events, I did not think it possible for someone to miss your brother’s… precarious grasp on his position.”

_Don’t go._ Maria wanted to say. But it was not her place. _Tell him no, you’re not interested in the half-truths he’s whispering you._

Sweet Henry. “What do you mean?” the boy asked, looking up at Rutledge with wide eyes. “The assassination attempts? Do you think someone will try again?”

“I think it would be prudent to keep an eye on both heirs to the throne,” Rutledge said smoothly, sweeping the boy out of the room with one wide hand. “Your father has already lost one son, losing another would be a terrible blow to the family…”

Maria sighed. She couldn’t stop opportunists like Rutledge from lurking around the young prince, but she could try and fill his mind with good lessons when she had the chance.

By and large, she loved the palace children. She had none of her own, but each one she taught would make her a better mother. And she loved each for themselves - mischievous Frances, shy Henry, gentle Mary, tempestuous George and fanciful Samuel. Each one a challenge, each one a delight.

The library was another delight, one that was hers alone. When she'd come to the court (Not yet a palace) to serve as governess to Lord Rutledge's youngest children, she hadn't expected how much it would call to her. Shelves of books, simple seats, and windows that faced the rising sun. And so, though she'd barely known her letters at the time, Maria had begun spending her free hours in the sunny room.

Yes, the library had come before the palace, and that said something about King Henry Laurens' character. The high ceilings of the hallways she hurried down now to the kitchens were fine, very kingly, but she preferred the cosy brightness of her library. She had just rounded the corner to the kitchens when a hand grabbed her arm. "There you are."

"Unhand me." She tried to pull away, only for the man to whirl her around to face him. "Oh. I didn't know you were back."

"Back from three months protecting the western border," James snarled. His hand, wrapped around her arm, tightened imperceptibly. "A man's gone that long, seems he should find his wife waiting in the bed for him when he gets home."

So that was what he wanted. He wasn't going to get it if she could help it; there was a dreadful amount of work to be done before sunset, she didn't have time to indulge James' appetites right now. "I will see you tonight, dear husband. You know how much I missed you." _Little and less._ But he did know that, so it wasn't a lie. She put her free hand on her arm and used it to tug. He didn't release her. "I know my husband would not want to disappoint the king, who is expecting this work to be done quickly."

James released her with a small shove. "A lord's wife shouldn't be working."

_No, but yours has to_. James had no land, his title a gift from the king in return for information provided during the last days of the war. 

"And yet, the king needs this work done." Maria forced herself to lay her hand on James' hand. Then, she tilted her head up to kiss his cheek. "We all have crosses to bear. Why don't you go and freshen up, and I will see you later." _Much later._

Before she could retreat, he grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss. She flushed scarlet as she wrenched away from him. “Stop that. We are in _public_ -”

“So? The lords and ladies of the court don’t know what goes on between a husband and wife?”

She drew away from him. “That doesn’t require you to demonstrate it in the _hallway_. Where is your honour?”

“Honour,” he scoffed, still crowding into her space. Maria stepped deftly away from the wall, down the deserted hallway. “The whore talks of honour. Where was yours, seducing me with your wicked ways? The least you could do-” he reached for her, unsuccessful as she stepped further down the hallway. They were almost at the stairs. “-is give me what I paid for.”

So that was how it was going to be. Maria took a deep breath, summoning her poise, and place a hand on James’ chest to hold him away. “I can see that spending so much time in the border towns has affected you. I will forget your words, and see you tonight as befitting your _wife_.”

Gathering her skirts, and her dignity, Maria marched up the stairs. She did not look back, and he didn’t try and stop her.

As soon as she got to the library, the air rushed out of her. Maria put a hand to the wall to steady herself. _Breathe._ It was over, he was gone, and hopefully her husband would find his sense of propriety before she saw him again. And if not, well, at least they would not be in public. _Breathe_ , she ordered herself again, trying to slow her racing heart.

“Lady Maria? Are you alright?” She looked at the hand held out to her, then up at James Madison’s concerned face.

“Yes, My Lord, just shaken. I- I saw something that upset me, is all. A trifle.” A perfectly acceptable thing for a lady to confess.

Lord Madison’s cool eyes looked her over carefully. Somehow, she didn’t think he believed her. But all he said was, “anything that upsets a lady with such a strong constitution cannot be a trifle. Can I offer a sympathetic ear?"

"No thank you, My Lord." As much as she wanted to unburden herself. "It is a domestic matter."

"Ah, yes." He nodded. "I had heard he was back today. My apologies, Lady Maria."

That was interesting. "You know my husband?"

"No, my lady, only by reputation." Madison offered his arm, and she accepted it. He lead her back towards the stacks of books. "However I do confess, it seems shocking to me that a man of his reputation has managed to wed such a prize."

Maria inclined her head in thanks. "I was fortunate that a man as titled as Lord Reynolds asked for my hand." For that was what it had come down to, in the end. A man who'd been granted a title thanks to his wartime services, but lacked the breeding or manners to attract a wife of his station. A woman working in the palace, no money or opportunity of her own. James had found a young wife, Maria had a title to her name and some small protection from the wandering hands of the castle. 

"Ah, that is the way of the world, isn't it?" Madison sighed, watching as she started going through the books. "Wheels within wheels. It's never enough for a man to meet a woman, fall in love, and make her his wife."

Maria straightened, book in hand, suddenly wary. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning, Lord Madison."

He shrugged, cool eyes watching her face. "It was easier when things were simple."

"Yes, well, unfortunately that is not the world we live in." A shawl, she should have brought a shawl. Something to wrap around her shoulders, her bare neck, and shield her. "Are you married, sir?"

The question took him by surprise. He blinked once, quickly, and said "Yes. Her name is Dolly."

_Good_. They were usually less likely to wander if they had a wife at home. "And do you love her?"

"I do. Everything I do, I do for her and our son."

Maria had to smile. "Then you are a rarity in the world, and she should be honoured."

A man who loved his wife, protected her, and honoured her.

What a novel concept.

"Have you seen the princess yet?" Madison asked.

Maria, running her hands along the books, hardly heard. "Mmm.' Something was missing. With the pamphlets, something misshelved or shuffled around... She ran a finger of the titles, trying to work out what was out of place. 

_Free thoughts on the proceedings of the continental congress_ was gone.

_Kinloch_. The stupid boy had taken it. It was a small pamphlet, easy to hide in any number of pockets.

_I am going to kill that man_. But she couldn't. Couldn't even raise her voice, not to a lord's son. He would come in, joking and jabbing, and she would smile and raise an eyebrow and act like forgiveness was something for her to give and not his to take.

"-though I do think they're more well suited than they believe." Madison finished, the rueful smile on his face never wavering. Maria realized she'd tuned out the last minute of their conversation entirely. "I'm sorry, My Lord, I didn't hear you. I beg your pardon?"

"The princess," he said, as if it was obvious. "Angelica, the future queen of South Carolina."

"What of her?"

Madison inclined his head to the side. Maria followed his eyes, then stopped dead.

She had not seen the princess in weeks, not since she had come to the library with John Laurens several months ago. Well, not including the wedding, where Maria had seen her stepping gracefully around the dance floor, strung up with pearls.

At the wedding she had been an angel, a supernatural being untouched by mortal concerns. Here, in the library, she was a woman. No, a queen. Even with her hair down and surrounded by most ordinary settings, Angelica radiated an air of command. 

Maria approached her carefully. "Princess. Is there anything I can help you find?"

Her head jerked around, snapping out of a reverie. "Oh. Who are you?"

"Lady Maria Reynolds, your highness." Maria dropped into a quick curtsey. Angelica's stare was careful, intense in a way Madison's could never be. Heat pricked through her cheeks. "The palace librarian."

"I am impressed Henry sees fit to employ a librarian," Angelica observed, but before Maria could even feel the sting of the cut Angelica was smiling. "It is nice to meet another well-read woman. And yes, you can help me. I am trying to return this to you."

In her hand was a small brown book. _Thoughts on Slavery_.

"This is from your husband's collection." Maria said, but took the proffered book anyways.

“I don’t want to bother him with it. I was hoping you could just return it for me.”

Maria gave her a careful look. In the two weeks since the wedding, it had been impossible to miss the coolness of the crown prince’s marriage. By all reports the prince was gallant as a storybook knight during court hours, the princess as stately and loyal as a queen, and the two retired to separate bedrooms every night.

_She must have found out what he is. Good._ She would be far, far better off if she stayed away from John Laurens.

“Of course, princess, I am happy to serve.” She would leave it on the shelf here. Let John come and get his own book, she had seen firsthand the dangers of going up to the man’s room alone. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Angelica’s breath released in a sigh. “A quiet place to read would be a relief. Particularly if it’s a place no courtiers or pages will think to look.”

Maria smiled. “My lady, I think I have just the place. If you would follow me?”

Just off the library was a door, a simple one that blended into the wall. A security issue, probably, one largely forgotten out as it lead only to the empty space on the side of the palace. But the multistory palace provided plenty of shade from the hot sun, and a curved stone bench had been installed among some bushes. It was quiet, private, and beautiful in a simple sort of way.

The princess’s eyes lit up the moment she saw it. “It’s lovely.” Her hands brushed over the cool stone of the bench, nails catching in the grooves. “Where did it come from?”

“The prince, John Laurens,” Maria admitted. “After the war Henry had his new mansion turned into a palace. John asked for a quiet place to sit outside.”

“After the war…” Angelica mused. “After Charleston?”

If she spoke now she’d only say something that would get her in trouble. Maria swallowed the words. “Yes, your highness. After Charleston. He needed a place where things were quiet.”

Angelica nodded grimly. She brushed off the bench and sat, skirts gathered carefully. “Was there much fighting in the south? We got so few reports, especially after General Gates took command.”

The answer was yes, but again Maria hesitated. She wasn’t quite sure what Angelica wanted to hear, and the idea of giving the wrong answer made her flush. She didn’t know Angelica yet. Didn’t know her moods, her triggers, how far she would allow Maria to push the boundaries of what a woman in her position would be allowed to do.

After a moment of thinking it over, she ultimately went with the truth. “Yes, your highness. There was fighting here. Savannah especially, and Camden. This part of the city was thankfully largely spared.”

“Good, I’m glad.” She wasn’t smiling, gazing into the bushes away from Maria. “In New York, we were not so fortunate. My father’s house was attacked, in 1781.”

Maria’s hand went to her mouth. “By soldiers?”

“Yes.” Resting in her lap, Angelica’s hands twisted. “They started ransacking the house, looking for my father. He was away, just my sisters and I in the house.”

“What did you do?” Her voice was hushed, quiet.

“Stayed upstairs,” Angelica admitted, with a huff. “My sister Peggy, in a fury- God, she was only sixteen. She marched onto the staircase and told them a servant had been dispatched, that the continental army would be there in minutes. No fear. She’s always been impulsive, reckless. And yet they left.”

Maria nodded. “She sounds very bold, my lady.”

“She is.” Angelica looked up, with an intensity that took Maria’s breath away. “And if I were as reckless, I would have refused any marriage that did not improve my chances of protecting my birthright as Philip Schuyler’s eldest child.”

This was foreign territory for her, this business of alliances and relationships. What could she say? _I'm sorry, princess?_ or _Why didn't you?_ or _I wish I were reckless too, then I would have turned down James proposal, thrown his flimsy shield back in his face and dealt with the consequences._

She said, "I'm sorry, Princess." 

"Don't be." Angelica's eyes shone. "It's not your fault I was a coward. Not your fault that-" She stopped, queerly, then swallowed and continued on. "My father is leaving today, with my sisters. With his court, some of which I was very fond of."

"Fond." Maria echoed. Yes, she had seen the way Angelica had looked at Alexander when he had come to fetch her. _Better that he leaves, then, before the whole court finds out._ They weren't exactly subtle. 

"And then I will be all alone," Angelica finished, a strange note in her voice. She put her head down, elbows resting on her knees, for just a moment. When she straightened, Maria could see the impassive mask of royalty starting to crack. 

If she could offer comfort to a member of the royal family, she would. Angelica's brows shot up when Maria knelt before her, but all Maria did was take her hands. 

"I know how lonely I was when I came to the city. It can be hard, but there are good people here as well. You will find new family.”

A soft smile tugged at the corner of the princess’s mouth. “Thank you. It has been a very long day, and one filled with goodbyes. I was in danger of losing sight of things.”

Maria nodded. “There are good things here. Not what you may have had in New York, but-”

“-still valuable.” Angelica pushed herself to her feet, then held out a hand to help Maria up as well. “Thank you. For your words, and for showing me this place.”

“Your highness…” Maria hesitated. Did she dare? “Your husband, the prince, has he- do you-”

“John is a good man.” Angelica said. Even if her smile was gone, she looked like she meant it. “Perhaps not the dashing figure young girls dream up, but loyal and kind.”

“As you say, Princess.” Maria got the door, holding it open for them to return to the library. “I am glad you’ve found him so.”

It didn't mean she had to agree with Angelica. _She can do better than that,_ Maria reflected, dusting her shelves off as she watched the spot of sun move across the floor. Outside the window, Philip Schuyler’s procession was preparing to set off.

_She deserves better than that callous boy._ It was a thought that stuck with her. _She deserves a man who will honour her, love her, cherish her. She deserves better than John Laurens._

So when the crown prince came in, scowling and stomping about, she was less inclined to be generous. Her courtesy was perfunctory at best, her tone only as conciliatory as it had to be. “My Prince. Are you here for your book?”

That caught him by surprise. John stopped, head tilting. “My book?”

_I suppose not._ “Your wife returned a book of yours to me. I’ve kept it for you.” He was still looking at her dumbly, so Maria went and got the book for him. _Thoughts on slavery._

“Oh. Yes.” He turned the book over in his hands. “I gave it to her to read. I- I wasn’t sure she actually would.”

“Have a good day, Prince John.” Maria turned away. She would retire to the children’s rooms, tell them stories and prolong the time she had before she saw her husband-

“-wait!” John’s voice stopped her. “I mean, a moment, my lady.”

“My prince?” She would not sigh, as much as she wanted to.

“I am in need of a new secretary,” John said. “As my last, he was… at John Andre’s dinner-”

“He was the one who ate the poisoned food.” Maria knew of it; everyone did. “Yes, my lord. You haven’t found a new one since?”

John shook his head furiously. “No. Couldn’t bear it. At least not until they laid him to rest. But I need a secretary. Someone with a good hand, who can write what I dictate.”

_Ignorant boy, too rich to write his own letters._ Still… Maria glanced out the window. Philip Schuyler’s party had just started out, a long procession of people near and dear to the princess staying behind. Particularly their secretary.

She didn’t think of the consequences, just opened her mouth and said, “My prince, are you acquainted with Philip Schuyler’s secretary? A man by the name of Alexander Hamilton.” When John only looked at her blankly, she added “I believe you met him before your wedding, when he came to fetch princess Angelica from the library.”

“Came to fetch- oh.” Colour infused his cheeks. “Oh. Him, yes. Alexander.” 

“He has a beautiful hand, and a work ethic that should be more than sufficient to your needs.” He was also a scoundrel, but she didn’t mention that to John. He might think it a perk.

John swallowed, then nodded. “That seems a wise choice, then.”

Maria smiled. “He rides out today with King Philip’s court, but they’ve only just left. If you ride hard, you can catch him. If asked, I believe he would stay.”

John glanced out the window over her shoulder. She saw him nod to himself, accepting the truth of what she’d said. “Thank you, my lady. You give uncommonly good advice.”


	5. JOHN II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics, then a ride with Alexander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated to reflect the content of the chapter. 
> 
> As always, thank you to Syn and Oaxara who looked this thing over for me.

In court, favour was like the wind. It blew one way and it blew another, popular sentiment as changeable as the seasons. What little boost in power John received from marrying Angelica Schuyler had quickly dissipated, if it ever existed at all. 

It certainly made weekly council meetings a chore. With no land in his own name, no men under his command, and a father eternally willing to ignore his views... there wasn’t much for him to do, beyond praying they had something interesting to talk about today.

"Your law is being written," his father informed him as entered the council room.

 _That_ was interesting. "Which law?" There had been no movement on his arguments about slavery, and no one seemed keen to support any of his other plans.

Henry looked at him oddly. "The one requiring a trial for any accused of treason. The one you threatened to disobey me for."

 _The one I married for._ It had better be worth it. "Right. That one. Thank you, your Grace."

Henry only just managed not to roll his eyes. "Go and sit." He took his place at the head of their small table.

John hesitated before taking his own seat. "Your Grace, I will also require a chair for my secretary."

"Your secretary?" Henry repeated dubiously.

"Yes, my new secretary." Why did he always feel so nauseous when his father was looking at him? _Get ahold of yourself._ He was a prince, heir to the throne. "He was with King Philip's court, and agreed to serve here instead." More stony silence. John cleared his throat. "Perhaps the climate agreed with him more."

"John," his father began, "have you any consideration for the fact that this young man might be a spy?"

"A spy?" John pulled back. _No. I asked him to stay, ran after him-_ it had taken him almost three hours to reach the bulk of King Philip's staff, and another to locate Alexander himself. By then he'd been breathing hard, his horse frothing, and he'd slid down from the saddle with little preamble and burst out _Come back and work for me._

Really, it was a wonder Alexander had said yes at all.

"He's not a spy," John said. "And I need him to take notes."

"Not at a council meeting." His father shook his head, slowly so as not to upset his heavyset crown. "You may bring him to dinners, if you like, or to official state business. Make sure he behaves."

"Yes, father." He had little time to argue, for just then Lord Rutledge threw open the doors and stormed in.

"Your Grace, this will not stand."

Behind him the lords flooded in, each of them talking. 

"Unprecedented-"

"Violence-"

“-this extrajudicial-"

" _Last night_ ," Lord Rutledge spoke the loudest, calling them all to quiet. "Last night, a reverend was out preaching in my county. He was preaching for loyalty to Britain, about what a mistake it was to rebel and what punishments we will receive for flaunting their royal authority. We do not agree with his words, your Grace, but he should have been allowed to preach them unmolested."

Lord Gadsden broke in, "And this mob, this militia that claimed to support the king's peace-"

Lord Rutledge only held up a hand for silence. "This mob decided he should die for it. I will spare your Grace the details of how it was done."

"No, tell us," John spoke from his seat beside the king.

"John."

"They broke the king's peace," John insisted, holding out a hand. "It is the king's duty to hear about this man's suffering. This-"

He looked over at Rutledge, who reluctantly said, "Samuel Seabury."

"Reverend Seabury deserves nothing less." He looked around the table. Steuben's face was impassive, though as John finished he gave a subtle nod of approval. Lord Kinloch looked green, likely thinking of his son; John didn't even want to _think_ about Francis reading those papers, maybe even papers written _by_ the dead man, advocating for loyalty to Britain. Rutledge and Gadsden had twin expressions of outrage on their faces - crocodile tears for a dead reverend. Neither spoke.

"Your highness, be reasonable," someone broke in. "What does it have to do with anything?"

"Enough," Henry said, and then council fell silent. "The king's laws were broken regardless of the manner of death. We shall dispatch soldiers to investigate."

Gadsden snorted. "A small comfort to the one already dead."

"Lord Gadsden is right," Rutledge didn't so much as look at the man when he spoke. "The guard is too small, your Grace. We need a force for each lord to keep order in his lands."

"Out of the question," Henry said. "Guards work for the state. Form a militia."

Gadsden's face darkened. "Militias _caused_ this problem-"

"Then we would consider a law to prevent them, if that is what you want."

"I don't think that's the answer," Rutledge said smoothly. "Militias are unskilled, your Grace, and their loyalties may be vulnerable to influence. They will not be sufficient to keep order."

John scowled. It was easy to see Rutledge's play. _He's manoeuvring to get troops that will be loyal to him, not the crown._

His father was having none of it. John saw Henry's hand clench, then slowly release. "My lords. I heard your concerns, and I share them. I will not burden you with the cost of a standing guard, as it is the crown's duty. I will speak to Lord Steuben about increasing the size of the royal army, and keeping a unit specifically to keep order in the land. It may delay our plans towards North Carolina for a time..."

"It would not, if the crown had not sold a quarter of its army for a bride," Steuben remarked. "A mistake, your Grace."

"As you have told me." Henry looked annoyed as he surveyed the assembled lords. “Lord Kinloch, I charge you to raise another battalion of soldiers and set them under the command of Lord Steuben.”

To his credit, Kinloch did not play coy. “Thank you, your highness. It shall be done.”

Steuben, arms folded, just scoffed. “I wish you all the luck, little lordling, in finding men. They tend to be scarce after a _war_.”

“We need food, not swords,” Lord Ramsay broke in. “If people are fed, they will have no need to go raiding and stealing. If men are fed and sheltered they will not-”

“Stone harmless reverends to death?” Rutledge suggested icily. “I doubt Samuel Seabury had turnips in his robes.”

“Hungry men do desperate things.” Ramsay shot back. “The crown should do more to protect them.”

Kinloch’s hand came down on the table. “I will protect them-”

“You couldn’t protect your own lands, Kinloch, why would anyone believe you could protect our men as well?” Gadsden said, ignoring the glare Kinloch sent his way. “Your highness, it is not enough. If the crown cannot protect our people, we must protect ourselves.”

Henry would not budge. He sat composedly, but John didn’t like the red flush to his face. His father was furious at the challenge. “You will have your protection, Gadsden. If any man is caught trying to incite mob violence - any man, whether by action or suggestion - I will have hanged.”

Silence. 

“Any man?” Kinloch said. “That would counter the law just signed, for people committing treason-”

“Give them a trial,” Steuben suggested. “A short one, if you must. Then hang them.”

“My law stands,” John spoke for the first time, trying to keep his voice steady. “No executions without trials, whatever the crime. Or we are no better than the mob.”

He met Rutledge’s cold grey eyes across the table for a moment. Then, slowly, Rutledge’s head nodded. “Well said, my prince.”

“Yes, well said John, as honourable as your father-” Kinloch tried to smile.

“We have further business to attend to, if you will,” Henry interrupted, leaving Kinloch to wilt in his seat. “Arrangements for the winter’s ball, for correspondence, infrastructure for spring-”

And John, having had his brief moment of liveliness, tuned them out. He cared about balls almost as little as he cared about infrastructure. What did it _matter?_ People were starving, people were dying, people were enslaved and these men would argue as heatedly over what type of roast fowl be served at the dinner than whether to extinguish a man’s life. As they debated it only got more and more unbearable, the pressure building until he wanted to scream. 

Unfortunately, no one seemed interested in letting him off the hook.

“It would be fitting for you and Princess Angelica to lead the dancing, my prince,” Ramsay said. 

“John, have you kept up correspondence with King Philip? What does he make on these matters?”

“John, do you prefer-”

“Your highness-”

“Please!” John brought his hand down on the table, making them all fall blissfully silent as they turned to stare. “May I be excused?” John asked, barely restraining himself from clutching a hand to his head. 

“But my prince, the lower county crossing is of vital importance-”

“Your Grace,” John appealed to his father. “I fear I am unwell at the moment.”

Henry considered him, then scowled. “A wise prince sits through council meetings, so he will know what will be asked of him.”

 _I know exactly what will be asked of me. Compromising, giving up power, and surrendering my liberties to the needs of the crown._ “Yes, father. But not today. Just… not today. Please.”

Gadsden leaned forward. “If the boy does not want to sit in on council sessions-”

“I do!” John insisted, not breaking eye contact with his father. “I do.” _I just wish we spent more time on justice and less time on politics. I wish it did not make my head spin and my stomach heave._

Henry gave him a look. “Very well. Go.”

Kinloch leaned forward. “If a younger perspective is needed, I can summon my son? He is close to the prince, and can speak to his views…”

John had shut the door before he heard the reply, but he could imagine what they had to say to _that_. Kinloch should have been grateful for what he was given.

He had only a second to compose himself, however, before a voice called his name. “John! Your highness!”

“Francis.” John tried to suppress a groan. The last thing he needed was for Francis to see him like this. At least he was in his court clothes; a high necked tunic in the Laurens red, structured and stiff and chafing at the sides. “I’m just heading to my rooms.”

His two guards detached themselves from the wall to follow. Francis gave them a baleful look. “Do Scylla and Charybdis ever leave you alone?”

“No,” John said shortly.In his stiff jacket, his shoulder twinged. “And that is not their names. If you will excuse me, I am retiring-”

“I’ll walk you,” Francis said quickly. Then, in an undertone, “My father wants me to, you know-”

“Spend time with the prince.” John sighed. “Very well.” It helped that Francis, despite his father’s ambition, was good company. 

“How was the council?” Francis asked as they walked. “I’m jealous, you know. I have to wait till the old buzzard dies before they’ll let me in there.”

“Francis!” John burst out, but he couldn’t help but smile. Lord Kinloch _did_ resembled a buzzard, the way he circled and looked for scraps. It still wasn’t a polite way to talk about a lord, though.

“What? The sentinels aren’t going to rat on me.”

John grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t be so sure,” he said in an undertone. They were still Steuben’s men, after all, and reported to him. Unless they’d been bought, in which case they reported to Steuben _and_ to someone else. Neither had any loyalty to him. “Francis, your pamphlets, you need to get rid of them-”

“It’s fine, John.” Francis shrugged out of his hold but didn’t move away. “I know what I’m doing. What’s the harm?”

 _What’s the harm indeed,_ John thought. _Just a dead reverend being used as a pawn._ He became aware, suddenly, of how conspicuous they were; standing in the centre of a hallway, close together, having an argument. “I have to go.” It would be a blessing to get out of his stiff court clothes, at least. 

Francis clapped him on the shoulder. “Be happy. Life is good and full and rich.” He laughed once, the sound bouncing off the ceilings, and then took off down the hall.

“How much of that did you hear?” John asked Benjamin Walker, carefully.

“None of it, my prince.” The guard dipped his head. “Should I have?”

“No, thank you.” It seemed silly to be thanking a guard. “Please stay out here. I just have to change.”

Unfortunately, when he shut the door and turned around he found his wife waiting for him. “John. You're back."

"My lady." He dipped his head to her, as a gentleman should, and cast his mind out for some excuse to get her out so he could change. A sudden fever, a duty that needed her presence immediately elsewhere?

No. None of that would do. And it was ridiculous to not want to disrobe before the eyes of his own wife. With a sigh John shucked off his fine jacket, letting the stiff wool fall to the floor. He rolled his shoulders once, luxuriating the the mobility and the stretch of it. Divesting of his vest and breeches offered the possibility of even more coolness and comfort.

"What was the council meeting about?" Angelica asked. John could feel her eyes burning into his back as he turned away from her.

John dropped his vest atop his coat. "It would not be of interest to a lady. How was your day?"

"It would not be of interest to a lord," Angelica snapped back. "I heard Rutledge and Gadsden are in a state, the old general too. Something happened."

John tried to shrug. "A reverend was murdered for preaching loyalty to Britain. My father is raising a task force to keep order." _She'll find out that much anyways._ But he wasn't about to name the martyr, not when Francis was still borrowing his pamphlets. He turned his back on her once more, hands hesitating at the waistband of his breeches. _Just do it_. She knew he liked men, she wasn’t going to do anything. 

No sooner had his breeches hit the floor than he heard Angelica say, "I want to join you in the council room."

 _That_ got his attention. "Why?" He turned around to look at her, no longer self conscious about his state of undress. "No other man's wife has a seat. Not even my mother had one."

Scorn flashed across her face. "Not as your wife, as the eldest heir to the throne of New York and Jersey. I will not allow the Clintons or the Livingstons the opportunity to steal my birthright."

"Your birthright," John echoed. Somehow, he found his voice. "You gave up your birthright when you married into another royal family. You are a member of this court now, my lady."

"Angelica," She snapped back. “I have a name.”

“Angelica, then. The answer is still no.”

“That isn’t your decision.” 

“You are my _wife_ -”

“And you are not the king!” she shouted over him. “Not yet! Your power comes from him, and he wants my kingdom."

John could only scowl, face red. Was it true? Would his father back her over him? _Never_. Henry wanted her kingdom, yes, but Henry wanted order even more. He would take a dim view of his daughter-in-law trying to rule his son and heir. 

And John wasn’t going to argue with her. "Go and tell the king what you wish." He turned away, ignoring her sound of fury at his dismissal. "I have more important things to do. A man was _killed_ last night, my lady, for no reason beyond his political beliefs." He felt tired. So tired. _Leave, my lady, so I can sleep in peace._

"Reverend Seabury," Angelica said dismissively, and all John could do was stare. 

"Where did you hear that name?" Impossible. It was only just brought to the king's attention this morning.

"Around. John-"

"Where did you hear that name?" Something in his tone must have convinced her, for Angelica searched his face with a frown before speaking.

"Mara. Your sister knows more than you think, John."

That wouldn't be hard. He hadn't spoken privately to Mara in four years, and his father seemed unlikely to bend on that rule even with John’s marriage. 

"They want more troops, don't they?" Angelica prompted.

"Yes. Their own troops. They want a standing army, to stand against my father." Fury dissipated into exhaustion, he came over to sit on the bed. Angelica moved, keeping the space between them and crossing to the window. 

"No king would grant that," she mused. "But they'd know that. Are they planning for your new troops to fail?"

"What?" 

"Or are the troops a cover for something else? Something they don't want you to see?"

He stared at her, uncomprehending. She caught his eye.

"I sat on my father's councils for years, John. I know how a court works. They will have thought out every angle.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong. "Rutledge," was all he said. "Rutledge was accused of importing slaves without a license."

Angelica nodded. "Sleight of hand. Focus the king's attention elsewhere."

"Yes." Only now he knew that. What was he going to do about it? _Talk to Steuben. And Kinloch._ Francis' father would do anything for a bit of royal favour, and Steuben had brought in the information in the first place. Not a coalition in itself, but he would need support to go to his father."I will talk to them. And-" he looked over at her, "thank you, my lady. Angelica."

She walked over, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. "My mind works was well as yours does, once it’s occupied," she reminded him. "I am heir to a throne, and will be queen to another. I will _not_ sit around, bored, or lock myself away in a tower like Princess Mara."

"Understood." A truly remarkable woman. And beyond that... it was nice to have someone on his side. "I will speak to my father about the council."

A smile quirked at the edge of her mouth. “Good. Though if I were you, I would put on trousers first.”

It was a lovely day, though, and his father could wait. John headed to the library, slipping out the back exit before anyone could see. His little stone bench was just as he'd left it, surrounded by a copse of trees to keep it hidden from sight. The crisp autumn wind whipped his hair, but it was refreshing after the stifling heat of his father's counsels. John took several lungfuls of air, then set off down the path to the stable.

Outside, his guards keeping a discreet distance, in plain clothes, he was not the prince. He was just another man about his business. Workers nodded as he walked by, or called out the news. John would have cheerfully stopped to talk with them all, but today he had a different activity in mind: riding out until he couldn't even see the palace and staying there until dinner.

But when he came upon the stable, it was to the sounds of shouts and laughter. "What's going on?"

"Games?" North shrugged, hefting his musket. "Perhaps young Francis decided to ride as well."

"Francis doesn't like to ride," John said absently. He did have a horse though, a fine grey mare. All of the nobility had them, though most entrusted their wellbeing entirely to a crew of grooms and stableboys. "Let's find out."

"Alexander!" called a voice that sounded doubled over with laughter, "Stop that, you're going to- oh." The stableboy who'd been calling out straightened up in a hurry, glancing around quickly for his cap.

He was also missing his jacket, John noticed, and the buttons on his shirt were not all done up.

"My lord- your highness- we meant no harm, your highness, we just- you haven't come down to exercise your horse for the past several days, and-"

John frowned, looking from the dishevelled stableboy to the open door of the stable. Then he broke into a run.

Only to find, in the open space beside the stable, a sight that made him stop dead. His secretary, cantering around on his horse, facing backwards.

Alexander was also underdressed, wearing only a pair of trousers and a tunic. He was laughed as he turned the horse, unable to see where he was going, trying to stay in place without the benefit of boots. "Ben!" he called. "Ben, watch this!" and before John could blink he'd swung his leg over and was now riding sidesaddle. "God this is not very comfortable, I don't know how ladies even-" He tilted, in the saddle, and then regained his seat. "She's a fine beast, though."

John cleared his throat. "She is." _Not as fine as the man who rides her._ Away from the posturing of court, Alexander was even more magnificent. His long hair was loose, dark and slightly wavy with sweat, and there was a wild abandon that couldn’t help but draw John’s attention.

The smile dropped right off Alexander's face. He nearly fell again, in his haste to righten himself. "John-"

"Grab him," North said crisply. "I'll get the beast."

"No need," John said, trying to still his racing heart. He clucked his tongue at the horse, slowing her until he could reach out and take the reins. Alexander slid down wordlessly, not looking at him. "She's spirited," John said, running a hand over the horse's mane. "You have a way with her."

"Thank you, highness." He had just looked up, letting John see those rich dark eyes, when William North pulled Alexander's arms behind him. 

"Stealing his grace's horses now-"

"Exercising," Alex bit out. He didn't struggle against the hold, but every muscle was tense. " _His highness_ did not come down to ride her yesterday, or the day before. I was helping Ben exercise her."

"And is that proper behavior for a secretary? Cavorting with stableboys?"

John looked over to where Ben hovered anxiously, noting their similar states of undress. _Oh._ They were... they had been...

He was jerked back to reality by Alexander saying, very carefully, "Kindly let go of my arm. If you have issue, take it up with the king or with the prince." At the return of John's attention, he straightened and put on a charming smile. "His royal highness would not begrudge his people having a little fun, I'm sure. Do they have fun in South Carolina?"

"Er, they do," John stuttered out. It was the smile, the damn smile. "They do. Let him go. As he said, he was only helping the stableboy."

Benjamin Walker, behind him, snickered. Alexander grinned. It took only a moment for John to grasp their meaning. "Helping the stableboy _exercise the horses_."

Even North cracked a smile, "I'm sure many stableboys have benefited from this man's help. He clearly has a taste for fine horses."

"He does." John made a decision, right there. "Alexander, would you like to select another horse and come for a ride with me? It's a lovely day, and company is welcome."

He was rewarded with the flash of a genuine smile. "I am happy to accompany the prince." He even had the audacity to bow, before racing off towards Ben and presumably his breeches.

"You didn't have to do that to him," John commented to North as he stroked his own horse and checked her over. All her tack was there, all properly situated.

"He was stealing your horses."

"He wasn't going to ride off with her. He just wanted to take her out."

“He’s a sodomite.” 

John’s heart felt heavy. “It doesn’t interfere with his ability to read and write.”

"He needs to learn his place," North said. "But if your highness wishes, I will refrain."

"He does. Please."

Alexander returned on a chestnut gelding, young and spirited. "His name is Fernando," Alexander told John. 

"Fernando." John nodded. "This is Brutus."

"I know." Alexander flashed him a grin that could set a thousand suns alight. "Where are we riding, Prince John?"

John considered. "West," he said, and nudged his horse towards the forest. "They have to stay with me," John explained, as Alexander glanced back at the guards following them. "For protection. Even when I'm riding, even when I'm alone."

"What do they think is going to happen to you when you're alone?" Alexander scoffed. He looked uneasily back at them again.

"A stray arrow through a window, a man with a knife, the palace roof collapsing on my head."

"I would hope a prince of South Carolina would be able to defend himself from an attacker with a knife."

"I can!" John protested hotly. "But princes are not supposed to." That was what they had always told him. Don't do this, or that, it is not what princes are supposed to do. 

Alexander was having none of it. "And as for arrows or collapsing buildings or fever, how exactly do they plan on protecting you?"

"They make everyone feel safer," John said, ending the argument. But he couldn't help from glancing over at Alexander. A fever had not been on John's list of dangers, but it had made it onto Alexander's.

"Were you born in New York?" he asked, trying to be casual. 

Alexander hesitated, long enough to make John wonder if he was going to lie. "If I had," he said, very slowly, "I would have been in Philip's court, not a part of his staff."

Well, that was acceptable enough. John would not push the point. But before he could ask another question, Alexander was talking again.

"You were born here, of course, the prince. I don't think the people would accept a prince who wasn't born here, and they've accepted you. What of your sister?"

That took him by surprise. "Martha?"

"Yes." Alexander kept his eyes on the trail in front of him. "The princess in the tower. Why does your father keep her locked up? She's of an age to be married, is she not? I confess I rather thought she was getting matched with Aaron Burr, but no announcement is forthcoming and I've had to admit that I _may_ have been incorrect. Though I'm still not sure." 

"Martha..." John sighed. "No engagement is in the works, as far as I know. My father is very protective of her." And he turned to face the trail as well, hoping that was the end of it.

No such luck. "Why?" Alexander asked.

John hesitated, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. The moment stretched on. Finally he said, "I did something rather cruel to her, a few years ago, and though I begged her forgiveness it is... well, I don't know if she's forgiven me. I do not see her unless we are both in court, or I pass her in the halls." And always surrounded by people and the pressures they brought.

Alexander grimaced. "If I lived so close to my brother, there is not a sin in the world that would keep me from him." 

_He has a brother_ , That was something, along with the fact that he was an immigrant. "We were never close," John said. It was a lie, but one kindly meant. "You like horses?"

"Fine animals," Alexander declared, then softened slightly. "All gentlemen know how to ride a horse."

"As you have demonstrated. You have none of your own?"

Alexander shook his head. "Shot out from under me during the war. Things fell apart before I could get a new one. His name was Peacock."

"Peacock the horse," John mused. "Did he have many feathers? Wait, what do you mean 'fell apart'?" For a moment, he was afraid Alexander was going to say he'd fought for the British. _No, I couldn't bear that. He can't have._

"I was aide de camp for General Washington," Alexander confessed. "When he was replaced in favour of a _snake_ , his staff were all thrown out as well. I had known Philip Schuyler and his family, so I moved back to New York to help them build a kingdom."

The canopy they walked under was cool and shady, the branches leaving dappled patterns on Alexander's jacket and legs and the tan skin of his hands as the held the reins. John swallowed. 

"Come and race me," he said, instead of allowing his mind to continue wandering. "it gets flatter over the ridge, down to the stream."

"Race you?" Alexander was already picking up speed, Fernando picking his way carefully over the ground.

John tapped Brutus to catch him. "You call yourself a gentleman?" he challenged, as they crossed the ridge onto flatter ground. "Prove it."

And with a whistle he and Brutus took off. Alexander, laughing, followed. The two men raced side-by-side, legs jostling, until the horses began to slow as they reached the stream. 

"I won," Alexander declared, jumping down and stripping off his jacket.

"You did not," John shot back. He turned, only to meet the sight of Alexander with his vest unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up. 

"I did! I was the first one to reach the stream, you can ask the horses- John?"

John blinked. "...Yes?"

"Exactly," Alexander said, triumphant. Pulling off his boots, he headed towards the stream before John could figure out how to ask what he'd just agreed to. 

John did not go as far as Alex - he took his jacket off, and his boots, but stayed otherwise dressed and out of the water. It was still fall, and the wind was enough to chill the heat from racing. He lounged while Alexander splashed about, until the man came back up and flopped beside him. "That was nice."

John hummed. "Too chilly for me."

"A pity. I was hoping to see m'lord without his clothes."

John flushed, head whipping around, but Alexander was playing the innocent. "It's pretty here.”

“It is. We used to come here as a family, when I was young. I chased Mara through the woods and tried to push her into the stream.”

“Before the war,” Alexander said, and it sounded like a sigh. “Have you always lived in Charlestown?"

"Mostly." The redness in his cheeks was not fading. "I was educated in Europe, and during the war I lead the Eastern Army."

"Which was largely in Charlestown."

"And Savannah, the British retreat from Combahee, Guilford..." Why did they always want to talk about Charlestown? Sometimes he felt like screaming that the sum of his military service had been more than one siege. “You said you served in the army as well?”

“With Washington, as his aide de camp. The Brandywine, the retreat from Yorktown, the battle of New Jersey.”

“And his subsequent removal, after New Jersey,” John murmured.

Alexander gave him a long look. “We can’t all die for scraps of land.”

“It was not a scrap.” He stood, stung. “Charlestown is the largest port in South Carolina. We could not lose it to the British. We _could not_.” So he had- he had-

Locked up every entrance to the city, with orders that anyone who dared enter or leave would be killed. Killed an officer himself, a man he scarce outranked, for threatening to offer the British surrender terms. Let his people starve, bleed, and die for the revolution he believed in, a revolution that had turned into just another power play. 

“We could not lose that port.” John shook his head. _It had to be done_.

“As you say.” Alexander wasn’t looking at him.

 _Butcher_ , they had called him, after. _The butcher of Charlestown, the Butcher Prince._ Willing to let his people die rather than surrender them to the enemy.

John pulled on his jacket, suddenly cold. When Alexander looked up, it was with a hesitant smile that almost made John’s heart stop. 

He shook his head to clear it. “I know you can ride. Can you shoot?”

A slow smile spread across Alexander’s face. “A damn slight better than you.”

“I doubt it. I’ve been hunting all my life.”

“And everyone knows, _your highness_ , that you carry no gun into battle.” Before John could do anything else, Alexander had pulled the musket off Brutus’ saddle and tossed it to John. “Go on. Pick a target.”

A target... John looked around, finally selecting an apple on the other side of the stream. He nodded at it, then took aim, and _fire!_

A miss.

“Let me see.” Alexander took the musket from him, reloading it with nimble fingers. John watched his fingers dance over the barrel of the gun, gripping and twisting it, and tried to keep his expression level.

“What?” Alexander asked suddenly.

“Nothing!” His cheeks were burning. “Just waiting for you to take the shot.”

Alexander nodded. As he turned back to the apple, his whole body stilled. Calm, coiled, he brought the musket down to aim and-

_Crack!_

The apple fell, taking half the branch along with it. 

“That does not count,” John told him.

“It does!”

“You hit the tree, not the apple!”

“I knocked it free with one shot!” Alexander looked peeved. “Another, then. That one.” But when he hefted the gun, John tackled him. The two men wrestled for a moment, before John was able to use his bulk to pin Alexander beneath him. 

“Surrender.”

“Never.” His eyes were sparkling. Before John knew what was happening there was a twist of the shoulder, a push from the hips, and Alexander was free. “If you want me you’ll have to catch me,” he sang.

John tried, really he tried. Sometime during the chasing, his guards found them. Neither did anything, merely slid off their horses and watched as John collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily. It was nearly dark.

“We should go,” John admitted, trying to catch his breath. As Alexander came closer he made a halfhearted grab. “There, caught you.”

Alexander looked down at the hands clutching his shirt. “So you did. What are you doing to do with me?”

A hundred different answers pressed against his lips. John froze, unable to speak and of them and risk ruining the moment.

Behind them, Benjamin Walker cleared his throat. “Your highness, you’ll be wanted at dinner.”

John glanced over at them, then back to Alexander. He found the man smiling, the moment gone. “Yes, I suspect you’ll be frightfully late. What will your wife say?”

John gave him a look, releasing the shirt so Alexander could shrug his jacket back on and remount. John's eyes followed the movement, the swing of his leg into the saddle and the shift of his hips as he settled there.

“Why do I feel like you’re going to be the death of me?” he murmured.

It was louder than he’d anticipated. Alexander caught his gaze. “But what a glorious death it would be.”

And if John flushed scarlet, in the fading light, no one could see.


	6. ANGELICA II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelica learns about what it means to rule, and politics begin to unravel...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to Syn for the beta

It was dawn, and by all rights Angelica should be asleep in bed. She should be gently waking to a maid drawing the curtains – or, she thought with a flush of heat, waking to Alexander’s hands on her body.

Instead she was sitting in a gazebo in the palace grounds, book in hand, trying not to shiver in the chilly morning air. She’d donned her best wool caplet, the one trimmed with fox, but winter was approaching with a vengeance.

Princess Mara sat beside her, apparently unbothered by the chill. She had a book open in her lap – it’s a book Angelica’s seen in her hands many a time, a worn copy of the Bible – but she wasn’t reading it. Instead she appeared to be… thinking? Pondering the word of The Lord? Mara had never struck her as particularly devout, though Angelica supposed if she’d been locked up the way Mara was she too would turn to prayer.

Even now, there were two guards posted at the door to the gazebo. Beyond them, Mara’s ladies in waiting sat delicately on the grass. A mixture of high-ranking servants and low-ranking noble girls, the princess’ flock had the aura of routine. This was not the first time Mara had made a pre-dawn excursion to the gardens.

“Is your book very good, Princess?” Angelica tried, breaking the silence. The princess was lonely, she knew, and that explained away some of the awkwardness. But it was still rude, to invite her here and ignore her.

Mara just shot her a look.

“Do you pray often?” Angelica asks again, voice louder.

“Shh.” Mara pressed a finger to her lips, eyes wide.

“I find that I’ve quite forgotten the words, you must show me how you pray in South Carolina,” Angelica continued on stubbornly. _Do not shush me._

Mara looked around frantically. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said “Come and sit beside me.”

That, Angelica was willing to do. Obediently she shifted over until she sat beside the princess. “What are you doing?”

“Listening.” Mara whispered back. “Can’t you hear them?”

The ladies in waiting? Every so often one of the girls made a comment to another, but when Angelica indicated them Mara shook her head. What, then?

In the quiet dawn she heard the soldiers guarding them shift, heard the creak of a leather boot that would soon need to be replaced. And beyond them, beyond the walls of the palace…

She could just make out the faintest of whispers. Voices, in the room next to their gazebo. That was why Mara was sitting so quietly! “Who?” She asked, the words barely a whisper.

“My father,” Mara mouthed back. Then, with a slight flush of embarrassment, “Those are the rooms where he takes his breakfast. Sometimes, lords will visit him for various matters. In a few minutes they will exit into the gardens behind us. No, don’t look,” she added as Angelica turned around. “They can’t see us here.”

“And you listen to them?” Angelica asked incredulously. It just seemed so… skulking.

“My father is a busy man,” Mara said simply. “He has a kingdom to run, and no time for his daughter. I like to… hear him, at least, even if that is all. To know that we are all in good hands.”

Angelica’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And that’s all?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes.” Mara looked at her inquisitively. “What else is there?”

_In the rooms where Henry Laurens talks privately with his lords? What else indeed._

Sure enough, within minutes they heard the doors creak open and the lords spill into the gardens. Angelica fell silent, ears straining.

“Can’t think of it right now, ask me in a few years…”

“But with such instability, your highness, would it not help to shore up your support?”

“Are you saying you require a royal marriage to stay loyal, Rutledge?” The king’s voice boomed with authority, angrier than Angelica had ever heard him. Mara winced.

Angelica’s mind whirled. A royal marriage? To who? John was already married... did the king intend to wed again?

“Of course not, your highness. But your son is not too old for a betrothal. Neither is my daughter. It’s a good match, and it would reassure your lords-“

“What? That their king gives away his children to the first man who asks?”

“That South Carolina is still a nation for its citizens first,” Rutledge said smoothly. “That the boy will not be bartered away as your eldest was.”

Angelica sucked in a breath as Mara’s eyes landed on her. _Bartered away._ But she was the one in the strange land, not him. She was the one expected to mold into his court, to live in his kingdom. _He wasn’t the one bartered, I was._

“And,” Rutledge continued, the voices beginning to drift as the men walked away, “who better than my daughter? They are of an age, I hold position on your council, and land and incomes in my own right. It would not be a price, for my service to you, but a reward for loyalty. A king must be open-handed…” She caught only a few more words, straining, “…the betterment of the land… not until…. An age…”

And then they were gone.

“Did you hear that?” She demanded of the princess beside her.

Mara nodded slowly. “It seems Hen will wed Lord Rutledge’s daughter.”

“But he’s just a child!” she exclaimed. John’s younger brother was only nine.

Mara shrugged, though she looked troubled. “If father thinks that is best… he didn’t say it was to be a marriage, only a betrothal.”

“But the promise of a marriage.” _Too young_ , her mind screamed, _too young._ Too young for the mess of politics.

How young had she been, when her father first brought her into that world? When he’d sat her down and said, _Angelica, you must stand in for the son I do not have._ To smile and make nice, to build alliances, and to one day marry to cemented ties between her kingdom and another. She had always known that way her fate.

But she remembered how heavy it was to carry, even at a young age. How the world weighed on her shoulders, and spurred her to work always harder to advance the interests of her father’s estate. And it had worked – they had won the throne, and New Jersey besides – but she had sworn her sisters would not feel such pressure.

It seemed natural to extend that protection to John’s brother. And his sister too; Angelica gave Mara a smile. “I’m sure everything will work out.”

Mara smiled back, shakily. “Yes.”

They waited only a few moments more before Angelica said, with as much feigned surprise as she could muster, “goodness, I must return to my husband. Thank you, Princess Mara, for including me in your readings this morning.” She kissed the princess on both cheeks, returned the fond smile it earned her, and marched off before the rest of the ladies in waiting could so much as move. One of the guards followed her, an ever-present shadow

“Where may I find…” Who? Who would help? No one King Henry had confided in, which cut out his council. Not John, her husband, who continuously brushed her aside. Someone she could trust. “Please escort me to where I can find my husband’s scribe.”

She had rather expected to find Alexander in the library or in John’s rooms, hard at work. It was a surprise, then, when her escort led her smoothly down a staircase and into the quarters of the palace’s attendants. “My lady, if you will wait here I will fetch him for you.”

“Nonsense, I have no fear of my husband’s man. And with a loyal guard at my side, it shall be proper.”

He acquiesced with a stiff grace. “As you say.”

In the common area there she found him, drinking and jesting with none other than Francis Kinloch. “You’re a ways away from the solar, my lord.”

“Indeed.” He raised his drink to her, grinning. She noted he was accompanied by no guards or escorts. “So are you, Princess. Someone get her a drink.”

“Princess Angelica.” Alexander stood, only slightly off balance. “I trust you’re not here to inspect my quarters.”

She flushed as Francis let out a cackle. _You forget yourself._ “I have better things to do than sit in servants quarters.”

Alexander’s head jerked up, comprehending the insult even in his intoxicated state. “Oh? Then what do you want, _princess_?”

She glanced over at Francis. Dare she trust him? No, he was John’s friend. “I need a word. Privately.”

Francis howled with laughter, even more so when Alexander adopted a smug grin. “I think that can be arranged, Princess.”

Francis slapped him on the shoulder. “Not in those quarters, is your bed even large enough?”

“…And I’m sure your guard will be enough to keep Francis entertained while we do. Or is one not enough to sate you, Francis?”

“Alexander!” Angelica burst out, shocked. He had _never_ spoken like that in her presence before. “Control yourself.”

“Yes, princess, as you wish.” But the look he gave her was just as insolent.

“Water.” She ordered the guard. “And food. For both of them. Then I need a word with Alexander.”

She waited patiently as they both sobered up, though Alexander still stumbled when he stood. At least it had gotten rid of their reeling antics. He took her into another room, the guard chaperoning. “My dear lady, what can I do for you?”

There was no beating around the bush. “Henry Laurens intends to wed his younger son to a daughter of Lord Rutledge.”

Alexander considered it. “So?”

“The boy is nine!” She made a sound of frustration.

“So?” Alexander asked again. “You people are all royalty now, are you not? That is the duty of royals. To wed.”

“He’s just a boy.”

“He’s a pawn.” Alexander frowned. “I don’t like it either. Should an attempt on John’s life be successful, Henry Jr becomes the heir to the throne.”

“And you think Rutledge is behind the attempts on John’s life?” Angelica pressed eagerly. “If we were to make an accusation…” Yes, this was what she wanted. A chance to _do_ something, to effect the world.

“I think it’s impossible to know without more proof. And even if we did know, the king would accept nothing without proof. Not to dispose of one of his trusted counsellors.” Alexander shook his head, ponytail bouncing. “And it doesn’t matter. If it’s true, it will only accelerate his plans.”

The way he was looking at her made her frown. “What plans?”

“To seat his daughter on the throne. There is only one way to stop him, then. A pregnancy, to remove Henry Jr from succession entirely.”

_Well, that is going to be a problem_. She considered, again, the potential benefits of having Alexander father her child and being done with it. John had already indicated that he would accept a cuckolding for the sake of the throne, and Alexander was a bearable choice. But it would require an explanation for the deviation of their usually careful practices, or conversations she had no idea how to navigate.

_There’s always alcohol, I suppose._ Or stealing a child. There must be a million orphan babies in the world, surely one could be parted with and passed off as her own.

But now was not the time for such things. “Thank you for your counsel,” she said, the same way Henry would dip his head to lords and thank them with similar words. “I will think on it.”

“Warn the boy,” Alexander said as she picked up her skirts. “He’s got a target on his back.”

“No,” She said flatly. “Henry is _nine_ , and deserves a childhood free of this. The adults will handle matters.”

“No childhood can be wholly innocent, Angelica.”

“I feel sorry for your childhood,” she told him shortly, “but that is not my concern. Thank you, Mr Hamilton.”

“You are most welcome,” He trotted out the proper phrase as she left. “ _Angelica_.”

She would not dignify that with a response. Instead she swept out of the room, fuming.

Only to come face to face with a smirking Francis, lounging against the wall. “What do you want?” She snapped.

“Nothing. Henry Junior, you say?”

“If you speak one word-”

“Have no fear.” He held up both hands. “I don’t give a damn about politics. My father can scheme and scrap all he wants, but it’s a game with precious few winners. I prefer to look for better odds.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you? Like what?”

He laughed. “Whatever catches my fancy. No worries, princess, I won’t interfere with your plotting. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are more interesting things that need my attention.”

She gaped for a moment, as he sauntered off, then stormed out with a snort of derision. “Fetch a carriage.” She ordered one guard. This palace, she had to get out of this palace before she went mad. 

The man was staring at her. “Your highness? I beg your pardon.”

“A carriage,” She explained slowly. “A small one, that would suit a quick trip through the city before dark. When you have one secured and waiting, I will be in my rooms.”

“Did I hear you saw you’re going out?” Francis called, disbelieving. 

“Yes. There are still several hours before dark.” Angelica crossed her arms defensively.

He laughed. “Alright princess, you do that.”

“What?” She demanded of her guards. “Go and ready a carriage, then come and inform me.”

The stairs to her room seem to take twice as long, but finally she throws open the door to her room, ringing for a maid. _Something lighter, if I’m going out._ “The green skirts,” she ordered. “Oh, and the coat from father.” Cooler than the wool she had worn to meet Mara, less formal than her court gowns.

She was behind the screen, just getting the last stays on her skirt laced, when the door burst open. John stormed in, followed shortly by the guard she had dispatched. “Angelica? What are you doing?”

“Doing?” As she felt the maid release her, Angelica stepped out from behind the screen. “I am going out. Around the city. Would you care to join me?” That could be nice, even. Riding around with her husband, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city they would rule. He had promised to be gallant to her.

John frowned. “But you can’t.”

“Whyever not?” She asked him, with a frown to echo his.

“Because…” He fumbled, then recovered with an apologetic hesitancy. “Angelica, no one goes out.”

“Well, why not?” The city did not look very dangerous, not to one who had grown up in the passionate New York.

“Because no one goes out. Not into the town, like that, for fun…” He shook his head. “You just can’t.”

One of John’s guards cleared his throat. “Princess Angelica, there is a lovely market within the estate that you may visit. It’s small, but the craftspeople are very skilled.”

“Thank you sir, but I don’t want to see craftspeople. I want to see this city I am to rule. John,” she turned her attention back to her husband. “Are you telling me you don’t go into the city?”

“Not like you described.” He shook his head. “Official processions and things, yes, but… after the first assassination attempt, I have been confined to the estate as my siblings are. Lord Rutledge leads the processions.”

That decided her. “Well, I am not going to sit in a tower all day.” She kissed him on the cheek, for luck. “Dear husband, I know you understand the importance of a king who is in touch with his people. It is even more important for a queen. I need to walk amongst my people, hear their stories, understand their woes. Else how will I be able to rule them?”

His eyes met hers, bright and steady. “Yes.” He gave a short, sharp nod. “You’re right. You are right. We need to be among the people. But my father-“

“And if I am to go, it is clear I need my husband at my side. Who else will protect me from the dangers?”

“No one goes-“

“Surely he has been told all the stories of Philip Shuyler’s willful daughters.” Angelica pressed a finger over his lips, silencing him. “Your guards will be happy to tell him how very willful I am, how it took everything in your power just to get me to accept an escort in the city. How I am used to the way things are done in New York, but you are persuading me of my folly. Right, gentlemen?”

Three of the four guards assembled were grinning. The fourth bore a frown, but quickly morphed it into a rueful smile when she cocked an eyebrow at him.

John looked uncertainly at her, then at his guards. He looked out the window, through which the town could just barely be seen. Angelica saw the exact second he decided it was worth it. “Let’s go. Walker, that carriage.”

The carriage had large windows, at least, and Angelica couldn’t help but smile as John helped her into it. It was a gorgeous day, cool and crisp and sunny. The perfect day to venture out beyond the stuffy and restrictive Laurens estate and be among the people. “You walked these streets for years, before your father took the throne,” Angelica observed. “How do you find them?”

“Like most cities, I suppose.” John was trying very hard to stay reserved, she could tell, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes stayed fixed on the scenery that rolled by or the way his face lifted to catch the breeze. It was criminal, how Henry Laurens kept his children locked up. Something she would have to challenge.

“I only know New York,” Angelica admitted. “And Pennsylvania, and the lands of my father’s estate. It included a few small towns, to be sure, but not cities.”

“It is a very beautiful city, my lady, at least to me.” John smiled slightly, leaning out to get a better view. “The most beautiful city in the America.”

It was a fine city, she supposed, though she would not go as far as John. The houses looked much the same as the ones she had seen in Pennsylvania and New York, quaint and cosy. Shopkeepers hawked their wares in the streets, and all over people bustled about on their business. _Look harder. These will be your people some day, to care for and to rule._

A woman with a wide, sun-burned face was haggling over some eggs, four children at her heels. A shopkeeper tossed a bucket of slops out of his store, misjudged his aim, and splashed the walls of the carriage. Angelica laughed at his chagrined face, so he knew she did not mind. People stared, as they went by, and some whispered, but what of it? It was natural for people to be curious, of the heir to the throne they had likely never seen.

“Wave,” she told him.

“What?”

“Wave, from the carriage.” She smiled at the people gawking. “They’ll love you for it.”

“I fear they will not, my lady, and I’ll not put you in danger.” She gave him a look, and he sighed. “Angelica. If this were another city, in another town, maybe. But I fought a war here, and people have long memories.”

So she did the waving, accepting their outstretched hands and their blessings and even their gawking stares. A queen must love her people, and Angelica was determined to be a good queen. _They will love me, if I am there for them, and in time they will love John too. He is a good man._ Complicated, contrary, and passionate, but a good man.

A man up ahead was selling fruit from his stall, large and round and orange. She nudged John to get his attention. “Buy me one?”

A flash of uncertainty crossed his face, before it morphed into an easy smile. “Of course.” He called for the carriage to stop, then stepped out with a smoothness that belied the tension in his shoulders. “Good sir!”

The man stopped, staring.

“A persimmon, for my lady.”

“Of course, sir- my prince-“ the pale man stammered out, reached back and withdrawing a ripe fruit from his stall.

“North, can you pay the man?” John said distracting, accepting the one and then a second one for himself.

“For you, it is free. Please, enjoy, I mean-“

“Oh.” John looked up, and from the carriage Angelica could not see the expression that accompanied his puzzled exhalation. “Thank you, sir.”

“It is an honour. A great honour, my prince, to have you here-“

“Well, I think you for it.” And John inclined his head, just slightly, before climbing back into the carriage and presenting Angelica with her treat. “For my lady.”

“Why thank you,” she purred, biting into it. The rich texture burst onto her tongue, tang with just a hint of spice. John bit into his too, careful not to get any on his fine clothes.

“My lord?” One of the guards leaned into the carriage. “We should return to the city. There is no more of the market to see.”

“Then let us see houses.” John waved a hand. “Or businesses, or waterfront. I am enjoying the air, North, with my lovely willful wife.” He caught her eye and grinned.

They travelled through the city, the streets gradually turning from markets to fine houses, then less fine houses, then industrial areas and ramshackle buildings.

_Look_. Angelica ordered herself. _They are your people too, every one._ She forced herself not to shrink from the sights of dirty children, too-thin women and mangy dogs. She saw injured men and old women begging, but she had brought no coin to give them.

At least John did not flinch. She saw him meet the eyes of scarlet women and hungry children alike, with a quiet intensity he usually saved for political causes.

No one cheered here. They stared in sullen silence at the fine carriage interloping in their street, or continued on their way without more than a glance.

“Butcher,” Angelica heard one man spit. John paled. “The butcher prince come to slum it with the poor.”

On the other side, a young man was calling out. “Revolution!” he declared, to the few who had stopped to listen. “Our revolution has failed, kings usurping their rightful places to deny us the government we fought for… but it is still possible to... we can unite and…”

Angelica tore her eyes away. She scanned the streets for a friendly face, just one… and found it. “Pierre!”

“Hm?” John’s head jerked up. “Oh, Pierre. What are you doing here?” With one hand he signaled their carriage to stop.

Lord Steuben’s young aid ducked his head, carefully avoiding John’s gaze. “I was visiting my family, lord prince.”

“You have family in the city?”

“I do, lord prince.”

“Here?” Angelica couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose. “You can’t be serious.”

He ducked his head again. “I apologise for the state of my family’s accommodations, Princess. They are but labourers.”

Astonishing. “And you work in the palace? How did that happen?”

Across from her, John cleared his throat. “Pierre is an aid to Von Steuben.”

“Yes, your highness.” There was just the slightest smile on Pierre’s face as he spoke of his superior. “I met Lord Steuben a year ago, and he invited me to work for him. I could already read and write, and he taught me everything else required.”

“I’ll bet he did,” A guard observed drying, and John shot him a look.

“North.”

“Be kind,” the other guard cautioned. “Let the boy keep his pride, and the position he’s managed to gain.”

Pierre did not react, though he must have heard them. He kept his eyes on John, face open and free of troublesome expression. “Is there anything I can do for you, your highness?”

“Come and ride with us,” John invited, glancing over at Angelica. She nodded. “We’ll take you to your family.”

But Pierre took a step back. “I would not want to trouble his highness and the princess.”

“It’s no trouble,” Angelica reassured him with a smile. “It’s a lovely day, and we are riding anyways.”

“Even so,” The boy dipped his head. “It would be terrible of me to impose. And my family, of course, they are not-“

“Thank you for your thoughts, Pierre,” John interrupted him and they boy looked up, relieved. “We will leave you to your day then. Do wish your family well.”

“I will, your highness, thank you, your highness.” He set off quickly, and did not look back.

Angelica turned to her husband. “You just let him go? We could have given in a ride.”

“We certainly could have,” John waved her off. “But he didn’t want us to.”

“What do you mean, he didn’t want us to? We could have taken him right there, in a fine carriage-“

“But he shrank away from the very idea.” John explained, a vaguely apologetic look on his face. “He didn’t want to, and it would have been wrong to force him to.”

“It would have been right, for he was being ridiculous,” Angelica muttered. But when John smiled tentatively at her, she couldn’t help but return it. The day was too fine for many complaints.

By the time they returned to the castle, it was dusk. John walked her up the many stairs to their rooms, one hand on her back and the other holding her hand.

_Maybe…_ they had enjoyed a beautiful day together, and seen each other at their best. She certainly _felt_ like a proper member of the royal family now. Maybe that would extend into the bedroom as well. She lingered by the door, even as John kissed her hand goodnight.

He raised his eyebrows at her, questioning.

“My prince, we should-“ _do our duty_ , the words were on her tongue. She swallowed them at the sudden flash of uncertainty on John’s face. “Let me in,” she said instead.

He did so, leaving the door open for her but staying well out of hand’s reach. She sighed. _Not tonight then._ But she was not going to slink back to her rooms in defeat. “May I stay here tonight, my prince? As your wife?”

“Provided that is all you do.” John sat himself at the desk, his back to the bed as the maid helped her undress. “I am afraid I have… work to do, my lady. Much work.”

_You sound ridiculous._ But the maid was not laughing – if anything, she looked wistful as she helped Angelica step out of the corset and skirts. Perhaps she thought his lack of rakishness romantic. “That will be all,” Angelica told the girl, and once they were alone said “You need not fear, I won’t touch you.”

“I have work.” He was as stubborn as a pull. “A kingdom to run, letters to write-”

“No letter takes all night,” she shot back, then relented. “Very well. As long as I am here in the morning, no one will titter over the state of our marriage.” She considered, for a moment, telling him what she had heard about his younger brother. _Can I trust him?_ She remembered in this room, two weeks ago, reminding him forcefully that she was not going to be a pawn in her own court. He’d smiled at her then, reassured her he understood. “John…”

He sighed, pen clattering as he dropped it on the desk. “What, Angelica?.”

“Nothing.” The moment was gone. It had fled the moment she had suggested they share a bed as husband and wife. _Fine. I will deal with it on my own._ That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To deal with things on her own?

Angelica didn’t know how many letters he had to write, but it was very late when she heard him finally join her in the bed. He slid under the covers, body warm but distant, the inches between them a gulf she dared not cross.

But for that night, it was enough.

The next morning she rose, quite refreshed, to find John already gone. “Where is he?” She asked crossly, to the servants assembled in the room. “The ivory gown today, I am so sick of pink. And the diamonds, not the pearls.”

“He is with his scribe, drafting correspondence,” the maid said, dropping the jeweled cross necklace around her neck.

“I suppose he has no time for his lady wife?” No one answered her. “Very well. If he returns, tell him I am in the library.”

The library was quickly becoming one of her favourite places. It seemed to function as a central gathering spot in the palace, where men of all persuasions came to work, to read, to debate. And she was not above stepping into those debates whenever the situation called for it, which it often did.

Sadly, the library was quiet that morning. She saw Lord Madison reading, Lord Steuben dictating something to his young aide, and a small sampling of other lords and ladies. None of interest. Instead she went to find the librarian.

Maria was usually among the stacks of books, shelving and organizing, or sometimes in conversation with various nobles that stopped by. But a quick scan of the sunny room revealed no figure dressed in red.She’s just about to leave when she hears a sigh from behind a desk.

“Maria?” Sure enough, she found Maria kneeling on the floor behind the desk, torn pages of a book all around her. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” She was up like a shot, eyes wide, before they focused on Angelica and colour flooded her cheeks. “Oh! Your highness.”

Angelica reached out a hand before she could curtsy. “Angelica, please. What happened?”

“Angelica.” Maria glanced up at her eyes for the briefest moment, then away. “Nothing, I was just- just fixing this book.” She gestured helplessly to the pages. “As best I can, anyways.”

“Someone was very careless,” Angelica observed. 

“They always are.” Maria sighed, gathering up the pages and laying them out onto the table. “No one cares about the cost of it, the extra work, or the fact that some of these books are not easily replaceable.”

“Why not do it on a desk, though?” Angelica asked. “The floor seems a queer place to repair books.” 

Maria flushed again, shifting her eyes downward. “You are correct, your high-Angelica. I didn’t want to be seen by anyone.”

“Is book repair so shameful?”

“No,” Maria smiled, “but sometimes it is nice to get some peace. No requests or orders or gentlemen getting too friendly.”

“Do they?” Angelica asked, surprised. “You’re married.”

“A minor obstacle, to some men.” Her mouth twisted. “They pretend to be innocent, and meanwhile…” she adopted the stance of a man, stepping close to Angelica and places a hand on the small of her back. “Excuse me, my lady, just passing through-”

“No!” Angelica shrieked, trying to contain a laugh. 

“Yes!” Maria insisted. “Don’t forget ‘My lady, you are wasted on your husband’ and ‘should you ever be in need of comfort, please know I am your friend.’ My friend! A man I’d only met that day!” She flopped onto the floor behind the desk, skirts spread. “I am hiding from them and I am hiding from my husband. Women are welcome.” 

“Then I shall join you. Men are scoundrels and we are well rid of them all.” Angelica sat, far more gracefully, her skirts smoothed over her knees as she folded behind the desk. It did feel queer here, out of the eyesight of anyone who could see them. If Maria had been a man, it would not have been proper. 

“And now we… fix a book?” She asked. “Is that the way of it?” But when she turned, Maria was staring at her. 

“Angelica,” Maria asked, very carefully. “May I ask you an…. impudent question.”

“Of course,” Angelica said, trying not to feel startled. _Is that not what you already do?_

“Your husband, when you two are together… does he treat you like he should? Does he respect you?”

Angelica smiled, and took her hand. “You have asked me this question before, I think, and I have answered it. John is nothing but a gentleman.” _If sometimes rude._

“Yes, your highness.”

Angelica’s eyes narrowed at her conciliatory tone. “What makes you think otherwise? Is there something I don’t know?”

Maria hesitated, and that was all the answer Angelica needed. “What happened? Is this about the siege of Charleston?” Perhaps she had lost family – brothers or a husband or a father. It wasn’t all that unlikely. But that had been war, and while Angelica did not agree with it, she understood his actions.

“No. A different kind of butchery entirely.” Maria spat.

“Tell me,” Angelica insisted. She looked around wildly – no one was nearby, there was no one to overhear. “Maria, this is my _husband_ , please-“ _The man I am bound to for life. If he is some kind of monster, what does that make me? His accomplice or his victim?_

“Five years ago,” Maria said, speaking so quickly and quietly that Angelica leaned forward to hear, “there was a woman named Martha Manning who was employed as a lady’s maid to Princess Mara. It is why she prefers to be called Mara, so people did not mistake her for her dear friend. She was my friend too, she was-“ her breath hitched, then she plowed on. “Martha was suddenly found to be pregnant, and named your husband as the father.”

“Pregnant… with John’s child?” That was impossible. He had told her he was a virgin. He had told her he did not desire women.

“Yes. She was thrown out in disgrace, and he kept the child for himself. The bastard daughter that still bears his name, though he never once spared a thought towards her mother.” Maria’s eyes were full of some desperate emotion Angelica could not understand. “The court says they are in love. That theirs was a star crossed love that could never be, and he shuns your bed because he is still deeply in love with his child’s mother.

“But I knew her, and they did not. She was in love, with a soldier in the town. She would not throw that away to be with some callous princeling, not if she had a choice.”

“What are you saying?”

“That he forced her, or bullied her, or she did not feel like she could say no to him.” Maria wasn’t looking at her. Angelica reached out, tilted her chin up to look her in the eyes. “You have surely seen how he gets when he is impassioned? Perhaps she was afraid. Perhaps he knew this, perhaps he didn’t, but she was turned out onto the street and he suffered no ill effects. I think he wanted a child, and did not care who he trampled over to get it. That is why he has not spoken to his sister in years, and why the king does not allow him into the presence of women without an escort.”

Angelica stepped back, mind reeling. It made sense – too much sense. She had heard the falsehood in his voice, claiming to be a virgin at the age of 27. 

“I just wanted you to be safe,” Maria whispered, looking fearfully over Angelica’s expression: she realised suddenly that she was still holding Maria’s face, and dropped her hand.

“You did absolutely right.” A fury was filling her: that she had been lied to, that John had done those things, that Maria had been afraid to even voice them. “I will handle this. You have my word.”

“Handle… your highness… what do you-“

Angelica kissed her on the forehead. “I have power too. I will make sure he answers for this, I promise you.”

Maria met her gaze, searching, and then something settled in her face. Angelica was expecting her to say _be careful_ , but after a moment of silence Maria simply said “Good. Someone should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all I know this is a Big Fic and it has a Lot Going On so please let me know if y'all are following the politics and such and if there's anything you need me to be more clear on. It is definitely my first time juggling this many plot threads so let me know


	7. ALEXANDER II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation, and a realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's late... sorry. Started a new fulltime job with a killer commute, it's taking a lot of my time. Updates are going to be irregular, though still frequent.

The room was quiet, save for the scratching of a pen and the soft sounds of John pacing. 

No, not John. The _crown prince._ Alexander was having trouble keeping that distinction in his mind, of late, despite his best efforts. John was a most unusual royal.

He had been expecting similar work to what he had done for King Philip, or for Washington during the war. Writing letters, petitioning, organizing their busy lives. It was never too much work, considering he had no life of his own to manage, and it kept him occupied. But John had surprised him once again.

Alexander set the pen down carefully, and spoke in the quiet. “Your Highness, it’s finished.”

“Good. Thank you.” John came over, as he always did, to check everything over. His eyes slid over the paper, not reading it in the slightest, and he scrawled his name at the bottom. “Seal it.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

John was methodical, Alexander would give him that. He insisted on personally responding to every letter and missive. The only thing Alexander couldn’t figure out is why he couldn’t just do it on his own. Instead Alexander read each letter out as John paced the room, then John dictated a response that Alexander wrote down. John signed his name, and they moved on to the next. Boring work, but he’d done worse.

Alexander felt John’s gaze linger as he sealed the letter and put it with the ones they had already completed. The crown prince was watching him intently. “You were calling me John, before.”

 _I did, when we were having fun and you had saved me from your guards_. A sunlit ride, a familiarity far too close for a man and his secretary. Or for a bastard-born foreigner and a crown prince. “We were not at work then,” he answered, choosing a neutral option.

“Still. When we are not in a formal setting, I prefer John.”

King Philip had preferred Alexander not use his title either. It didn’t matter, that much he was able to deny them both. _If you want to be king over me, you must wear it. You must understand what it is, to have this power you cannot take off when you feel like it._ “It would be improper, Your Highness. I beg you to forgive my indiscretion earlier.” Though his words were conciliatory, his voice left no room for argument. 

“I understand,” John said quietly, his eyes still searching Alexander’s face. “I suppose I miss the sound of my own name, sometimes. No one calls me John.”

The lonely prince. Alexander had seen, over the past two weeks, how true that was. John went everywhere with his guards, but rarely spoke to them or anyone else. He had no friends at court but Francis, and his aggressive policies left him few allies. Even his wife would rather carry on a treasonous affair than share his bed. 

Alexander tried to push the thoughts away, reaching for another letter. “This is from the Marquis de LaFayette.”

“Lafayette!” John brightened. “A good friend. I invited him to join the court for the winter’s ball.”

“Did you want me to put it aside them?” Alexander moved to clear space. “A private letter-”

“No.” And, inexplicably, John blushed. “Please read it to me. Please.”

So Alexander broke the seal and read the short letter, inquiring after the health of John, his father, and his new wife. It also begged for any word of Lafayette’s most esteemed general, Washington, and confirmed that Lafayette would be arriving before the ball to visit his friends and strengthen ties.

“Did you wish to write a reply?” Alexander asked.

“Yes. Something short, even, or- tomorrow, we will do it tomorrow if you are available?”

“I am here to serve you, Your Highness.” Alexander trotted out the words. And then, “John?”

“Hm?” He looked back, framed in the tall window. The sun was just cresting the trees, promising some warmth to the chilly day and lighting up the prince.

“Why do you not write your own letters?” Alexander asked. “You have large quantities of mail, yes, but you also prefer to dictate responses to every single one of them rather than leave them to secretaries. You don’t read over my replies to confirm they are your words. Why not write your own?”

“I- then I wouldn’t have time-”

“It takes the same amount of time, you know this.”

John looked uncertainly at the door, firmly closed with one guard in the room and one in the outside hallway. “Because of the letters,” John sighed, heavily, at Alexander’s look of confusion. He stepped closer, out of earshot of the guards. “Please do not repeat this.”

What did he mean? “I so swear,” Alexander declared. It was a bit dramatic, perhaps, but John did not question it as he crossed over and stabbed a finger at the letter from Lafayette.

“The letters, look at them. The don’t stop moving. It makes it difficult to read them. Gives me a headache after too long, and if someone is reading them it is better to have them write as well and save my hand.”

“Oh.” Alexander looked down at the letters, perfectly formed and still to his eyes. “It is a common ailment, so I’ve heard.”

“Not for a prince,” John said grimly. “Not for Henry Laurens’ son. They tried to train me out of it, didn’t work, I just learned to live with the headache of it all. You can’t tell anyone, please. I’d rather they think I was just spoiled.”

Spoiled was all right for a prince, Alexander supposed. He sighed. “Your secret is safe with-” His head jerked. “What was that noise?”

Footsteps clattering on stone. They barely had time to react before Angelica Schuyler’s angry voice could be heard, even through the heavy door. 

“I _demand_ you let me in to see my husband. How dare you?”

“Walker!” John snapped, though he looked more than a little startled. “Let her in.”

Before he could move, the door burst open and Angelica stalked in, followed quickly by the guard who had been on the outside of the door. Alexander nearly knocked over the chair in his haste to back away from her. He knew what _that_ look meant.

John, apparently, did not. “Angelica?” He took a step towards her, tentatively.

She crossed the room and slapped him in the face.

“Your Highness!” North moved towards her. Alexander, already standing, stepped towards the guards and shook his head in warning.

“I trusted you,” she spat, as John’s hand came up to touch the bruising skin of his cheekbone in confusion. “I believed you when you said you were a good man.”

“I- what?” John looked away, as if Alexander or his guards might hold answers. “Angelica, what-”

“You have no right to my name,” she cut him off. “I believed you when you said you were a good man. I believed you when you said you’d not had another woman. You lied to me.”

John closed his eyes. The breath left him in a rush. “You’re talking about Martha,” he said, too quiet for the guards to hear.

Alexander looked from one royal to the other, wary. _Martha?_

“Yes, I’m talking about Martha.” Angelica did not bother to keep her voice down. Not only could the guards hear, but likely anyone in the hallway outside. She reached out, ripping his hand away from his face and holding it fast. “The woman you took advantage of. The mother of your _child._ How long did you expect to keep this from me? Were you going to keep you daughter hidden in a tower her whole life, like your sister? Or turn her away when she became inconvenient, like her mother?”

“Angelica,” John’s voice snapped like a warning, still low. Alexander could hear, but the guards at the door likely couldn’t. “Don’t do this now. Not here. Not with people around. I will explain, but this is a private matter-”

She dropped his hand. “I’m sick of your lies. Maybe the whole court should know? That John Laurens took a woman to bed, lied or forced her and abandoned her. He pretended she didn’t exist. I don’t believe you capable of love. Maybe that is what is wrong with you.”

“Angelica. Please.” John had retreated out of reach of her hands. “You don’t understand-”

“What? Why you would do such a thing? What little went through your head that you say nothing wrong with it? I think I do understand.” She turned away from him, but didn’t leave. Her eyes, blazing and furious, locked with Alexander’s. In them, he saw her fear and fury reflected; the helplessness she’d expressed to him, her anger that even the most prominent woman was at the mercy of her husband’s whims. 

Behind her, John glanced at Alexander, clearly torn. “Not here,” John pleaded. “Not like this.”

“Yes, like this.” She whirled back to him. “Or in front of your court? Would you prefer that? I have no power here, but I can even the score.”

John closed his eyes again, face tensing as if he were in pain. When he opened them, he said only “North. Walker. Please secure the door and see that we are not disturbed.” He turned to Angelica. “Will you sit?”

“No. I will not sit with you. Not after what you did.” She turned to Alexander, pointedly ignoring John’s pain. “My husband took advantage of a young woman, got her pregnant, and abandoned her while stealing their child for himself. He then lied to me about it, for months.”

“I didn’t lie.” John had collapsed into one of the chairs, and was rubbing his temples. Alexander repressed the urge to reach out to him. No. He stood as still as a statue, unwilling to get in the middle of their spat.

“I didn’t lie to you, Angelica. About _anything._ ”

“You deny it?” She whirled on him. “Is there not a child that lives in the castle and bears your name?”

“There is.” He took a deep breath. “She’s not mine. I don’t know who her true father is, Martha didn’t share and I felt no need to ask her.”

Both Alexander and Angelica stared.

“Not… yours?” Angelica’s forehead was creased in a heavy frown. “What do you mean?”

“I lied to everyone else, not you.” John ran a hand over his face roughly. “Never you. I told everyone that I was the father of Martha’s child, but I’m not.” 

Angelica stared, wordless. She seemed incapable of replying, so it was left to Alexander to prompt him. “What happened?”

John shrugged. “Most of the official story is true. Martha was pregnant, and she named me as the father. We were friends, close friends, so when she asked me, if I would help her child…

“There was no way my father would allow her to remain in the palace once it was known. No possibility. But, if I claimed the child… her daughter could stay. Could have everything she could possibly want, education and servants and care. A better future than she would otherwise.”

“She’s not your daughter…” Angelica shook her head, as if to clear her fury.

John’s mouth twisted. “She is my daughter in every way that matters. I am the only family she’s ever known. I told you the truth about everything, Angelica. _All_ of it.”

“About your preference for men?”

Another mouth twist, and a quick glance at Alexander. “Yes,” John gritted out.

 _The crown prince? With a preference for men?_ Well, _that_ was news. Though, considering John already knew about his own indiscretions, it wasn’t like Alexander could judge.

“What are you going to do about her?” Angelica asked.

“Frances?” John ran his hand through his hair, pulling it loose. “I have no idea. Raise her. Try and find her a good marriage, somewhere she can be happy. I’ve set aside money for her needs, but I don’t know what else to do. Even if I became king tomorrow, I don’t know where Martha’s gone. Don’t know what I’d do to be able to invite her back to court to be with her daughter. So I do the best I can.”

Silence met this pronouncement. Neither Angelica nor John seemed to know what to say. Alexander cleared his throat. “Angelica? Your Highness, where did you hear this information about the prince?”

Angelica flushed. John turned to Alexander. “Some of it is common knowledge, unfortunately. Though… nothing about my taking advantage. Another riff off the butcher prince?” He raised an eyebrow at Angelica, whose colour only deepened.

“I was told in confidence, by someone I trust. She would not make something up. Not this.”

“Then she was mistaken,” John snapped. “I cared very much about Martha. I love my daughter, whatever her true parentage is. Whoever told you this, do not speak with them again.”

Angelica’s eyes got hard. “You would rob me of one of my only friends.”

He sighed. “Yes, if necessary. I have strong doubts about your friend’s reliability.”

“No more doubts than I have about yours,” she shot back. “Thankfully, you are not your father, and you will not _order_ me to not talk to anyone.”

John met her gaze for a long moment, and even off to the side Alexander could read the challenge there. Then John turned away. “Just go.”

She did, fuming and haughty. Walker and North rushed to shut the door behind her, enveloping them in silence once more.

John sank into a chair. “Did I do the right thing?”

“By forbidding her from talking to a confident? She’ll ignore you.” Alexander said it frankly. He’d seen her do it before, numerous times. The eldest of Philip Schuyler’s famously willful daughters, the ringleader, she did not take kindly to being given orders from _anyone_. 

“I know she will. I was talking about Frances. Did I do the right thing? Separating her from her mother like that?” John shook his head. “I almost married her, you know.”

“You almost married a lady in waiting?” Not exactly a commoner, but a poor match indeed for the crown prince. And destabilizing as well, for the fragile kingdom they were building. 

“My father would have been furious.” John looked up, eyes bleak. Alexander couldn’t help but reach out, to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder the way he might have done for any one of his fellow aides during the war. So he could feel it when John exhaled, shoulders relaxing.

“My father would have been furious, and he may very well have disowned me. What kind of life would we have had then? It would have made her a target. And... it would not have been right. Not for the greater good.”

“It would have destabilized the kingdom,” Alexander repeated his thought. “To either lose an heir or have one who was so rogue.”

“I’m already rogue, didn’t you notice?” John rolled his eyes, and Alexander just caught the edge of his grin. “The first time I stood up in front of our lords and argued for freeing slaves, I was a rogue. And I wasn’t even a prince yet.”

Alexander grinned. “Bet they loved that.”

“There is a reason why I have two guards following me everywhere,” John said wryly, then sighed. “There was another reason. At the time, I couldn’t bear the thought of… of being married to a woman. Of sharing her bed, being her husband. It was too much, to inflict on a friend.”

“And you never…” Alexander couldn’t make himself say the words. Not here, not even with guards at the door. Not with John already looking so ashamed.

“No,” John said shortly. 

“Francis Kinloch then?” Alexander tried to inject a little bit of levity into his tone. Something, anything, to bring a smile back to John’s face.

Instead, he got a frown, a wariness. “What about Francis?”

“The two of you.” Alexander indicated with his head. “John, Francis is the same way.”

“He’s not.” Now he saw the flush, creeping slowly up John’s neck. _Ah. That’s how it is then._ Feelings, possibly unrequited and possibly just unacted upon. 

“If you say so.” Alexander gave a nod. He reminded himself that it didn’t matter one way or another who John had feelings for. “Did you want to finish your letter to the Marquis?”

“No, not today.” John sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Tomorrow is another day. Lafayette can wait that long at least. I have… too much on my mind.”

So Alexander gave a short bow, as was only polite, and packed up his writing things. John said nothing else, but Alexander felt the prince’s eyes on him the entire time.

With the day cut short, Alexander had little to occupy his time. He had plans to meet Hercules later, but his friend had been firm on when. Sundown, not before. 

_Why?_ Alexander had asked, eyes narrowing.

 _Working._ But his eyes wouldn’t stay still, jumping around the room as his hands twisted. _Just things I need to get done._

He was spying again, Alexander was sure of it. And, tonight, he was going to get to the truth out to Hercules. But there were still hours to go, so after wandering down to the kitchens for lunch he went to the library. At least there was always something going on there. 

Maria was in the corner, and seemed to be reading to a small group of children. Alexander passed her by. One of the young lords- Ramsay, maybe? The one with the stupid hat he insisted on wearing to court - was reading by the window. 

There were new faces as well, as lords and ladies of all sorts began arriving for the winter’s ball. It was still two weeks out, but there was feasting and aligning and scheming to be done in the meantime. 

He was just looking around, wondering if the stranger in his favourite seat was going to get up anytime soon, when he heard someone call, “Alexander?”

“Oh, Lord Madison.” Alexander dipped his head in an easy court bow. “I didn’t see you.”

“I like the corner seat.” Madison’s smile was warm, inoffensive. “More room to stretch out, and watch.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Alexander took the seat beside him. Indeed, it offered ample views of most everyone in the library. 

“I confess, it’s quite a bit more interesting than my accounts.” He pulled out a handkerchief, coughing into it for a long moment. When he pulled it away, Alexander saw the bright flecks of blood.

“Are you… unwell, Lord Madison?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Calm. As if some part of him was not suddenly screaming to bolt, to get out before he came down with another fever. 

“A lifelong condition,” Madison sighed. “I was never a healthy child, I fear. It gets particularly bad in the winter…”

Lifelong. Nothing to worry about then. Alexander forced himself to relax, as he settled in to gossip about the courts. But he couldn’t help glancing at Madison’s shaky hands, the unnatural pallor to his skin. _This is not a healthy man._

“Is King Thomas attending the ball?” he asked absently.

“No.” Madison stopped to cough again. “He is, regrettably, tied up in Virginia. Besides, courts can be dangerous things. Especially when too many kings gather. Is that not why Philip Schuyler has decided to stay in New York?”

“It is,” Alexander allowed. “But his other daughters are attending. And Burr, God help him, I still can’t believe he’s a king.”

“Though that is to be expected, if he is looking to cement his alliance with the king.” 

“Exactly!” Alexander exclaimed, before he could say anything else. “He’s going to have to make a royal marriage, _I_ thought Martha - Princess Mara, the king’s eldest daughter? - would be a fine match. But he claims he doesn’t want to wed again.”

A flash of annoyance passed over Madison’s face. “That may be true, but an alliance can do a lot to make a man get over his… impulses.”

“My friend,” Alexander put a hand on his shoulder and thinking of John. “You have no idea.”

“New York and Jersey, with Philip,” Madison ticked it off on his fingers, “South Carolina, and likely the North too in a few years. The kingdom that Mr Burr is building. That is a powerful bloc Henry’s building.”

“Indeed.” It was. Henry wanted it all, that much had always been clear. _A united nation, standing strong against any threats._ If they couldn’t have it with Washington, a nation lead by Henry Laurens would still be better than nothing at all…

“What’s this business with his son?” Madison broke into his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Two assassination attempts in six months. One in public, one at dinner. No one ever caught, though they didn’t succeed in either attempt. Curious.”

“Not that curious.” Alexander shrugged. “Have you met him?”

“The crown prince? Once or twice, during functions. He mostly keeps to himself.”

 _He doesn’t have a choice._ “He has very strong opinions about human rights. Freeing slaves, redistributing wealth-”

“Really?” Madison arched a single eyebrow. “And how does his father take that?”

“His Majesty lets Prince John get away with some of it. There’s not been much legislation pushed through-” John had complained about it, many times. His frustration with the court, his impatience at how long it took to draft laws, his mad scheme of bartering his own hand in marriage for a political concession. “Still, he has influence. Even unseen, largely constrained, he has influence. You will notice there are no slaves anywhere in the palace estate?”

“I did notice,” Madison said slowly. “Another concession?”

“Partially. His inheritance. And what lord would parade slavering in front of the man who will one day rule? Anyone who wins his favour now will be handsomely rewarded when he becomes king.”

“ _If_ he becomes king,” Madison pointed out. “If he gets taken out by an assassin's bullet-”

“Then it doesn’t matter who has fallen over themselves to flatter him. Henry Jr becomes the heir to the throne, and they have a decade in which to flatter _him_ instead.”

“True.” Madison nodded. “He has protection now, though. I’ve seen the guards, and I’m sure there are more protections in place. Henry was always- excuse me-” he paused, coughed long and hard into his handkerchief, “- a prudent man.”

“Guards, a food taster for the ball, heightened security throughout. No one will get near the crown prince without his leave, I’m afraid.”

The problem was, all the security was doing was making John miserable. Alexander could _see_ the way the guards weighed him down, and every time he looked out the window and sighed wistfully. He had taken _one trip_ beyond the estate and Alexander had heard about nothing else that day. Because he had taken a little risk, and it appeared to be successful. The ball was going to be even worse, with so many pressures bearing down on him. 

“He’s going to do something stupid.” Alexander shook his head, realization dawning. “At the ball. He’s going to do something stupid, and he’ll be lucky he doesn’t get himself killed.” Madison was looking at him oddly, so Alexander elaborated. “He’s unpopular with the lords, and he has a temper. He’s going to get worked up and do something stupid, and that will likely be all the opening the assassins need.”

Madison gave him a careful look. “Then get him out of it.”

“What?”

“Don’t let him do it. Or, if he does, have something ready so he’s not going to fall from an assassin's bullet.” He raised the handkerchief to his lips once more, just blotting. “It would be a sad day for everyone if South Carolina were to lose such a fiery young heir.”

 _And a sad day for me as well._ Alexander met Madison’s eyes. He nodded. Come what may, he would ensure that John survived the ball. 

“Thank you, Lord Madison. This has been a most… illuminating conversation.”

Madison just tipped his head. “To both of us, I think. I always enjoy hearing your thoughts about the state of things in the Carolinas, Alexander. You’re wasted as a secretary.”

Alexander flushed, pleased. “We all do what we must, Lord Madison. Will you be at the ball?” It would be far more manageable if he knew there would be at least one person who didn’t think of him as an inferior. 

“I had hoped, but,” Madison grimaced. “I fear my health will not allow it.”

“The evening will be poorer without your company,” Alexander said honestly.

Madison only smiled. “I am used to it, I’m afraid. I hope you enjoy the ball. And keep your Prince safe.”

“I shall.” He would have to ask Hercules to set some plans in motion…

Alexander was hurrying down the corridor so quickly he didn’t realise who he was passing, not until a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “You.”

“Hm?” It was John’s guard. North, William North, that was his name. A small, upturned nose, a long face, and fair hair pulled back in a queue. “Does the prince have need of me?” That wouldn’t be a bad idea. He could warn John, they could plan together-

“No. Must it always be the prince?” North was standing close enough that Alexander had to take a step back to see his face. What he saw, he didn’t like. Too much anger brewing there.

“Where is Prince John?” Alexander tried, taking another step away. It wouldn’t hurt to remind him of authority. 

The mention of their Prince did nothing to help, because North only took another step towards him. Alexander’s back hit the wall. 

“Who cares? My life is more that guarding. More than working. He treats us all like we’re deaf, we’re blind…” Too close now, in Alexander’s face, breath hot on his temple. “We’re not deaf. We hear everything, every precious secret spilling out of his mouth and…” His head dipped lower, lips just brushing Alexander’s temple, even as the heavy hand on his shoulder slid down his arm. 

Alexander squirmed away, but he couldn’t go too far. There was a wall at his back, and North outweighed him significantly. 

“What do you want?”

A brief pause, and the lips retreated. “Nothing,” North said, but didn’t move away. “What were you talking to that man about? He’s one of the visiting lords, isn’t it?”

“Lord Madison.” Alexander didn’t like this, he didn’t like it at all.

“What are you doing? Scheming, sneaking around-”

“I could ask you the same question,” Alexander shot back, “Interrogating me. I don’t share confidences with you.”

“Treacherous. You belong to the prince. It is your _duty_ to share confidences with his guards.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Alexander snapped, stung. _And I have no duty towards him but my work._

It was the wrong thing to say. North’s head tilted, looking him up and down. “Don’t you?” He said quietly. “I saw you with that stable boy. You looked-”

“That was a moment’s indiscretion,” Alexander protested. _And you wanted me arrested for it._ He had a long memory for men who twisted his arms behind his back and accused him of royal theft. Thank God for John.

North pressed ever closer. His other hand slammed into the wall on the far side of Alexander’s head, cutting off his escape. “You expect me to believe that was the first time you had a man? You probably had Schuyler, the prince, and your precious general. That’s how it works, the pretty and penniless work their way up on their backs.”

“Then what do you plan to do, North, with no money and no looks?” The voice was sharp behind them. North pulled back like he had been burned, and Alexander shoved past him to get a look at his savior.

Maria, hair loose and eyes sharp, gave him a short nod of acknowledgement before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. “Well? Steuben’s got a new plaything now, that precious boy he found out in the town, and you and Walker are cast off as guards. A pity, but that’s the risk. Can’t get a marriage vow like that.”

“Like you did, whore?” North threw back. “Everyone knows you’re no better than a common slut, just because you convinced someone to marry you-”

“-makes me still better off than you. When you make your yearly excuses to your family for why you’re unmarried, do mention it.” Maria met Alexander’s eyes. She jerked her chin at the hallway. _Go._

Heart pounding, relieved and churning all in one, he did. Behind him, he could just hear North snarl something else, and Maria’s answering laugh. Alexander forced down any sick feelings and took the stairs two at a time. Maria could handle herself. He could also handle himself, if it came to that.

And it wasn’t that North was objectionable, per se, it was just that Alexander preferred certain things in his partners. 

Like manners.

And space.

And long, curly hair.

There was nothing wrong with preferences, Alexander reminded himself as he hurried through the small passage that spilled out into the lively palace market. It was natural. As long as it was acknowledged and embraced, there was no harm in it.

Besides, Angelica had long curly hair as well. 

He ducks into Hercules’ little shop, calling out as he did so.

“You’re early.” Hercules was bent over a table, hard at work. Alexander could tell, even with his inexpert eye, that it was a fine piece; beautiful blue silk, being carefully embroidered with birds and seed pearls. 

“Light day,” was all Alexander said about it. He indicated the fabric. “Some noblewoman wanted a fancy shawl for the winter’s ball?”

Hercules huffed. “It’s a modesty scarf.”

“Ah yes,” Alexander nodded wisely, taking a seat. “My least favourite piece of clothing.” 

He was expecting Hercules to laugh along, maybe make a suggestive comment about corsets. Instead, Hercules gave him a cutting look. “Lay off.”

Was nothing going to go his way today? Alexander shrugged, trying to let it go. “Very well.” Must be a _very_ well paying client. “The winter’s ball is in two weeks,” he ventured.

“Mmm.” Hercules finished his stitch, looped it, and set his hoop aside. “I am assuming you’re going to be in attendance?”

“Yes.” He could still have that much, at least. “Are you?”

Hercules laughed. “Me? Why on earth would they let me in?”

“Security! Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“Security? In a modesty scarf?”

Yes, because that was clearly why he’d been so keen for Alexander not to come early. “Hercules, I’m not stupid. They must know-”

The laughter died away. “They don’t. No one does. Alexander, _no one knows_ , aside from the king, who won’t remember. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“But why?” Alexander wrinkled his nose. “Why not let the world know what you can do?”

“Because I like my head where it is? It’s safer.”

“But…” He shook his head. “Don’t you want something more than this?” With a gesture he took in the shop, cluttered and small, it’s window offering an unparalleled view of the palace’s high walls.

“Don’t you?” Hercules shot back, but his voice was gruff. He fell back into the chair, picking up his embroidery. “Look how far it’s gotten us. Maybe just be happy with what you have.”

 _I don’t have anything!_ No future, no job, no wife. Nothing. “I can’t be,” he said. “I just can’t.”

“So instead you sleep with the princess? Endanger your own life to… what? Get back at Philip Schuyler?”

“It’s not like that,” Alexander snapped.

“Then tell me what it’s like.” Hercules folded his arms. “You can’t just go around… sleeping with royalty, playing these games, pretending like you won’t get burned if you stick your hand in the fire. Because you will, Alexander, people always do.”

“So what?” He couldn’t sit anymore. Alexander stood, starting to pace. “I’d rather get burned then live my life too scared to even get close. What kind of a life is that?”

“Alexander.” Hercules’ face was inscrutable. Maybe he was insulting his oldest friend, but right now Alexander didn’t care enough to stop.

“We’re _better_ than this. They can’t see it, we have to make them, but we’re _better_. We were meant for more. You spied for General Washington. I was his aide de camp. In another life, that would have been enough to make it. It’s not, but something will be.”

“Something,” Hercules replied dubiously. “And you’re going to… what? Marry a princess?”

“Is it all that unlikely? Three years ago, they were wealthy. Today, they’re royalty. Three years ago I was an aide, today a secretary. Tomorrow? Why can’t I marry a princess?” Not Angelica, obviously, that _would_ be unlikely… unless something dreadful happened to John. “Hercules,” Alexander said, reminded of why he had come. “I need to tell you something. I am reasonably certain that someone plans to make an attempt on John’s life at the winter’s ball.”

“It would certainly be the way to go if they wanted flair, to sow some discord among the court.”

This part always awed Alexander. How Hercules could go from boisterous tailor to focused spy in a moment, switching so smoothly that Alexander wondered which was real. Both? Neither?

“What can we do?”

“We? Not much. He’ll have security. You’re good in a scrape, Alexander, but you know nothing about assassinations.”

“It’s not enough.” Alexander looked him right in the eye. “Hercules, it won’t be enough. He’s reckless and restless and he’s already had one taste of freedom. He’s going to do something stupid. The more security they shackle on him, the more he’s going to rebel.”

“Then you’ll have to stop him.”

“How?”

“Stay with him, if you can. Keep him from doing anything stupid.”

“And if he does?” Alexander asked, stomach sinking.

Hercules gave him a look. “Pray you’re wrong about what’s going to happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up... the ball!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](https://thellamaduo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are loved.


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